The Unsung Hero
by Sgt. Moffitt
Summary: The adventures of a misunderstood Major. Winner of the 2011 Papa Bear Gold Award for most unique story, and co-winner of the Silver Award for best canon character portrayal.
1. A misunderstood Major

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love._

_This story is affectionately dedicated to the memory of the late great Howard Caine, whose delightfully demented portrayal of Major Wolfgang Hochstetter was the inspiration for this story._

* * *

He sat in the deepening twilight, smoking one of Klink's purloined cigars.

This war was taking too damned long. What would _Mutti_ and _Vati_ have thought of their beloved Bavaria in shambles? He reminded himself that they would have been even more horrified had they lived to see their son—their cherished child whom they had tried so hard to Americanize—back in the old country, wearing this uniform.

He supposed he had been fortunate his family had emigrated prior to the first war. Although anti-Semitism had been present in Germany then—and indeed was present in their adopted country as well—his parents' memories of the Germany they had left behind had not been tainted with the lethal Hitler-ordered animus that existed now. And he thanked God that they had not lived to learn of the unspeakable atrocities taking place at Dachau, Buchenwald, Mauthausen, Boldaro, and many others, in Germany and its occupied territories.

Some days he wondered how much longer he could hold on. He had left his comfortable professorship at Columbia to embark on this crazy masquerade years ago. No one had urged him to do this. But after his father and then his mother passed on, he had found himself evaluating his life and taking a good hard look at what the world was coming to.

It had taken a great deal of research and the patient tracking down of leads before he found the obscure office in the State Department that handled agents who were involved with espionage. At first he had met with skepticism and downright suspicion. Why would an American Jew wish to infiltrate Nazi-controlled Germany? At that time Americans had not considered Hitler much of a threat; many, such as Charles Lindbergh, even admired him.

But he himself was convinced of the danger and his persistence paid off. It was slowly coming to the attention of the American government that many Nazi spies lived and worked in the United States. It was time to find out what was going on in the Fatherland. Since he spoke German like the Bavarian native he was, and had made it his business to study the political and social climate of present-day Germany, he was chosen to undertake a deep-cover, long-term espionage mission.

As he was young enough to be considered for active military duty in Germany, his first care was to secure a position with the secret police. This gave him access to information that should have warned America of the critical danger, even prior to the invasion of Poland. But he had been frustrated at every turn by the lack of US response. He was well aware of the neutrality factions that attempted to dictate policy in America during those years, but American passivity was hard to bear after what he had witnessed on the streets and the airwaves of Germany.

By 1939, however, control of his operation had been transferred to British Intelligence. Finally, the information he was able to obtain was being acted upon. He was pretty sure that he would never have been able to keep this up had he not the satisfaction that—at last—someone was listening to him.

But the demands of his job were telling on him. It was bad enough to witness atrocities and be unable to do anything to stop them. As a Gestapo officer, he was expected to be feared, and perhaps even to have perpetrated a few atrocities of his own.

To maintain his deep cover and yet still live with himself, he had developed and perfected a persona that was definitely feared by all who encountered him, and yet never actually did anything to earn that fear. He knew just when to ratchet up the threatening voice and gestures, slowly but surely turning into a wild-eyed maniac who terrified everyone he confronted.

He had made quite a reputation for himself among the Gestapo, and he was well aware that a few of his colleagues considered him to be on the verge of insanity. Perhaps that was the reason that no one had yet delved too deeply into his record. True, he had many investigations going on at once, but curiously enough the investigations never seemed to go anywhere.

He was careful to go after people who were the least likely to be enemies of the state, bluster and threaten them until his own staff was terrified, and then move on to the next. He was sorry that he had had to frighten so many innocent people, but so far it had not been necessary to do more than frighten anyone.

Of course, he had accidentally turned up a few actual underground operations, but he had skillfully mismanaged these investigations so that the perpetrators were somehow cleared of all charges. Again, he was sorry to have terrified them, but in the process he felt they had learned some valuable lessons about avoiding the Gestapo.

Then there was Luftstalag 13. Much of his time was spent harassing the camp, prisoners and staff alike, for what could be a more unlikely source of underground activity? The stalag boasted a Kommandant who was the picture of Prussian timidity and a Senior POW Officer who was the picture of American flippancy. And there had never been a successful escape during the tenure of these two...he was perfectly safe conducting an ongoing yet fruitless investigation here.

And yet...and yet...could those two possibly be as ineffective as they made themselves out to be? Could either of them be playing the same deep game he himself played? He would have given much to know the answer to this, but for the safety of all concerned, he knew he had to play the game on his own. Major Wolfgang Hochstetter, formerly known as Professor Howard Cohen, sighed and rose to get ready for bed.


	2. A Hauptmann in Berlin

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love._

Before Major Hochstetter first encountered Colonel Hogan and the Heroes, he had a life in Berlin...

* * *

March 1942

Gestapo Headquarters, Berlin

A young woman, blonde and quite pretty, knocked at the office door of _Hauptmann_ Wolfgang Hochstetter. She bent her head slightly, listening, as she awaited the summons.

_"Herein!"_

She opened the door and approached the remarkably untidy desk of her new boss. Papers were strewn across the desk, some having fallen to the floor, and files were stacked haphazardly. The _Hauptmann_ was smoking a cigarette and appeared quite perturbed_; _his dark hair was mussed, his tie was loosened, and his mustache was twitching. He looked up as she came forward and waved her to a chair.

_"Fräulein_ Hilda, sit." As she sank down into the chair he added, "As you know, I am new here, as I was previously assigned to Hannover. It would be very helpful if you could provide me with information."

Hilda hedged. "I am not sure what you mean, _Herr Hauptmann_."

"No?" He rose, and linking his hands behind his back, began to pace the confines of the small office. "You have neighbors, friends, former schoolmates—can you tell me anything...interesting about any of these people? I have files, as you can see, but any insight I can get will be helpful."

Hilda sat up very straight and said firmly, "I am afraid I do not know anything...interesting, _Herr Hauptmann_."

Hochstetter's head snapped up and he met her eyes for a moment. Then he smiled suddenly. "Of course not, _Fräulein_. You may go."

* * *

Cohen watched the secretary leave the office and sighed. It was rude of him to question the poor girl, but he felt better now that he had established that _Fräulein_ Hilda was not in the habit of providing information against people she knew—not even to impress her new boss. He was finding it the same here in Berlin as it had been in the Hannover office: mountains of files containing information that German citizens had provided on each other. An epidemic of fear and paranoia seemed to have gripped the land.

This situation actually helped Cohen maintain his cover, however. So far he had been able to pick and choose amongst the plethora of files to fill out his caseload. Most of the cases he undertook were baseless, even to the perverted justice system of the current regime. There were a few involving individuals engaging in activity that would be considered criminal in any contemporary society; these cases he had no compunction in pursuing. A few were indeed cases of individuals plotting against the Third Reich, but he was able to bury most of those with lengthy and meaningless reports.

But not all. Every now and then, a citizen would lodge a complaint that caught the attention of one of Cohen's superiors. In these instances, Cohen would be forced to carry out a full-fledged investigation. It was not his fault that these cases seemed to fall apart at the seams eventually...was it?

In some instances the suspect was found to be related to a high-ranking member of the Third Reich, and Cohen was tacitly encouraged to turn a blind eye. A few times the suspect mysteriously disappeared; one had even jumped from a bridge, committing suicide—or so it had appeared. Cohen relied on his London contact being able to mobilize the underground to rescue these people; his contact always grumbled about it, but somehow London always came through.

Cohen had been forced to contact London about tonight's planned arrest of Horst and Else Schneider. Not only had they attracted the wrong sort of attention, Cohen actually had proof of their involvement in anti-government activities.

He had carefully planned the arrest for tonight, selecting two of the younger and less experienced of his assigned staff to accompany him. Schmidt and Müller had both been members of the Hitler Youth, but Cohen suspected the indoctrination never fully took with either of them. He sensed that there was an inherent humanity to the young men that would make it less likely they would be trigger-happy when confronting the suspects.

The arrest would take place, but Cohen had arranged that the Schneiders would never make it to Gestapo Headquarters for questioning. A problem with the engine of his car, an unfortunate jamming of the weapons his men were carrying, and his quarry would vanish safely into the night.

* * *

Later that evening...

Tonight's situation was made considerably more difficult by the presence of the Schneiders' young daughter; Cohen realized it just after he had his men kick down the door of the little cottage. They surprised the Schneiders who had been sitting around a small fire in the hearth.

The little family looked up at the intruders with defiance, not fear, even when Cohen roughly ordered them to their feet. _Herr_ and _Frau_ Schneider both regarded Cohen with unblinking hatred; their daughter, perhaps eight years old, was expressionless as she clutched something to her breast.

Something about her eyes as she watched him—Cohen didn't know what to make of her. She looked straight at him and he stared back—the moment hung in time, although it must actually have been but a split-second. As the family was being led away, the child darted at Cohen and thrust what she was holding into his hand.

Automatically, he put it into his overcoat pocket and managed to conceal his surprise, as he glared at the family and shouted to his men. "_Raus! Raus! Raus!"_

* * *

Afterwards, after he had completed his routine check of his Berlin apartment for listening devices and other signs of intrusion, he reached into his pocket and retrieved the object the child had given him—a tiny, jet-black scrap of a kitten, perhaps a few weeks old.

After he had provided his guest with a scratch-box and a saucer of milk, Cohen sat down and pondered the situation. The child's parents had looked at him with hatred; what had inspired the child to entrust him with her treasured kitten? Certainly he had arranged for the family to be freed shortly after their arrest, but the child couldn't have known that. And he would never see the family again: the underground connection would see to that.

_So that leaves me with a kitten to raise. Some spy I must be._

But the encounter with the child had gone deeply with him. Cohen had not considered himself to be a lonely man; he had chosen this life because he was determined to do his part to right a great wrong, and the nature of his work meant he worked alone.

_But I'm always the bad guy...that's the way it has to be. I have to appear to be a conscientious officer to my superiors and that means I have to present a menacing attitude to the people I investigate. It doesn't matter that everyone I meet hates and distrusts me. Except for that kid tonight. What did she see when she looked at me, for her to consider me worthy of her trust?_

Cohen didn't have the answer to that_._

A tiny squeak interrupted his thoughts and he winced as needle-like claws pierced his trouser leg and a small triangular face appeared at his knee. A reluctant smile tugged at his mustache as he gingerly stroked the kitten's fluffy fur.

_Whatever she saw in me...I hope I can live up to it._


	3. Hochstetter meets Hogan

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes, and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love. _

_When a scene from the episode is presented, a few lines of dialogue from the scene may be included. Cohen's thoughts, of course, are his own._

When Major Hochstetter first meets Colonel Hogan, one of them ends up in the cooler! Cohen's take on "Heil Klink."

* * *

Locked in a dark, damp cell, Cohen tried to collect his thoughts. This was not exactly where he'd thought he'd end up today, and on reflection, no doubt he shouldn't have tried to arrest that annoying Kommandant yesterday. He'd used Major Hochstetter's customary intimidation methods, but unfortunately that seemed to have backfired on him. Somehow the cowering Klink had developed a backbone and arrested Cohen instead!

_Turnabout is fair play, I_ _guess, _he thought gloomily.

But how was Cohen to have known that when he entered the gates of Stalag 13, he was going to fall down a rabbit hole?

* * *

Two days earlier, at Gestapo Headquarters in Berlin...

Cohen studied the file on the new investigation ordered by his superior, _Oberstleutnant_ Schuster. He looked up inquiringly. "Hammelburg, sir?"

Schuster nodded._ "Ja_, a very unlikely place for Brauner to be hiding. Don't know if you've ever been there: nice little town, at least it was until all the bombing and sabotage activity over the last year. Hochstetter, I want you to take a team down there and trail Brauner. We expect him to reveal the underground route out of Germany...and incidentally lead us to members of the underground itself." His eyes glittered for a moment as if anticipating what a coup that would be.

Cohen kept his face without expression but his mind was racing over the problem. Wolfgang Brauner was the financial mastermind of the Third Reich, and if he defected as was feared, there was no telling what kind of blow this would deal the Nazis.

_And my duty as a Gestapo officer is to make sure he doesn't defect, using whatever means necessary. Of course, my job as an MI6 agent is to make sure he **does **defect. But it's just as important to make sure the underground isn't revealed. And in Hammelburg, of all places. What do I know about the underground in Hammelburg? Not much._

A few minutes later, Cohen rose and took his leave of his superior. As he clattered down the stairwell, he determined his best course was to contact his boss in London before he left for Hammelburg, and he hurried outside to his car.

He made a quick stop to pick up Manfred before he drove to the tumbledown hut in a bombed-out section of Berlin where he maintained a wireless set. The shortwave radio was usually his only means of communicating with his London boss.

* * *

Fortunately contact was easy tonight. Manfred kept watch while Cohen manned the radio; in his black coat he melted into the shadows, and as usual he maintained a dignified silence. Manfred had two outstanding characteristics: his ability to detect intruders long before Cohen could hear anything, and his absolute loyalty to Cohen. Cohen relied on both when he had to use the shortwave, as this was a dangerous area to be in at night.

"Snow White calling Mama Bear."

There was a hissing of static in his ear, and then a familiar drawling voice was heard. "Mama Bear here. Go ahead, Snow White."

"Reassigned for the next few days to Hammelburg. Looking for Daddy Warbucks."

There was a pause. "Daddy Warbucks? You mean _t__he_ Daddy Warbucks...Wolfgang Brauner?"

"Affirmative. Rumor has it Daddy wants to turn. My boss here wants me to stop him."

"Your boss will have to stuff it. Facilitate the turning, Snow White. Report soonest. Wait—did you say_ Hammelburg?"_

"Affirmative, Mama Bear."

There was another pause, and what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. "Very well, Snow White. Over and out."

Cohen sighed; it was what he had expected.

_They always tell me what to do, but they never tell me how to do it._

* * *

The next day Cohen drove down to Hammelburg with a couple of junior officers, and was able to trace Brauner's staff car to Luftstalag 13, about five kilometers out of town. But this seemed insane to Cohen; why would a potential defector seek refuge in a prison camp, of all places? Regardless, it was the only lead he had.

Reaching the stalag late in the afternoon, he and his team pulled up to the front gate. Cohen peered through the window at the drab buildings, the fences, the watchtowers, the barbed wire, the armed guards.

_What a dump! Poor devils...I hope they're getting enough to eat._

After they were shown the proper credentials and orders, the guards at the gate allowed Cohen and crew to enter, and the driver parked the staff car outside a dingy building designated as the Kommandantur. Before entering the building, Cohen directed his two men to stand watch.

He turned and swept an imperious glance over the compound, knowing that the black Gestapo uniforms he and his men wore probably struck fear in the hearts of the Allied prisoners here. There were a few of them milling about, some of them obviously on a work detail wielding rakes and shovels. None of them seemed adequately dressed against the biting wind.

He sighed inwardly. _When will I learn that there are some things I can't change? All I can do is get on with the job at hand: find Brauner and see that he gets safely out of the country._

He turned around again and went up the steps. A flustered corporal saluted and escorted him into a shabby outer office, where a blonde young woman was seated at a typewriter.

She looked up, eyes widening as Cohen came into the room, and he quickly suppressed a smile. _Fräulein_ Hilda had clearly not expected to see him here, although her presence was no surprise to him; he'd kept track of her whereabouts since she'd left Berlin.

_I know it's a shock, kid, but here I am._

_"Herr Major?"_ she inquired timidly of her former boss.

"Tell the Kommandant that Major Hochstetter of the Gestapo is here to see him," Cohen growled.

_"Jawohl, Herr Major."_ She rose and hurriedly went to the door that had a neatly lettered sign hanging on it, informing any interested parties that Kommandant Wilhelm Klink was within.

After she announced him, Cohen strode into the inner office. He was confronted by a balding middle-aged man seated behind a desk. With a monocle.

_Who wears a monocle? Didn't that go out with the Victorian age? Wouldn't it be easier just to wear a pair of glasses? Must be hell screwing that thing into your eye all the time._

"Well, Kommandant Klink," he sneered.

_Always start with the sneering. Save the intimidation for later, that's my motto._

Klink remained behind his desk, smiling ingratiatingly although he was clearly nervous.

Cohen glared at him and allowed his voice to rise as he demanded to know where Herr Wolfgang Brauner was hidden. But if he thought Klink would immediately cough up the information, he was sadly mistaken.

Klink hemmed and hawed and fidgeted, with the silly smile firmly pinned to his face. All he would admit to was having a guest on the premises, the identity of whom he refused to divulge.

Normally Cohen considered himself to be a mild-mannered sort of guy, but at a time like this he was more than happy to allow the irritable and bombastic nature of Major Hochstetter to take over.

He put on his best frown and announced that Klink was under arrest. The attempt at intimidation fell flat, however, when Klink failed to respond with the proper amount of fear and trembling. Instead, he kept babbling!

Klink's assurances of his intention to cooperate with the Gestapo were interrupted by his office door being flung open by a man dressed in a US Army Air Corps uniform, complete with leather bomber jacket and crush cap—obviously one of the POWs, except that he wore the insignia of a colonel. And this was an NCO camp.

_Curiouser and curiouser. _

Cohen was intrigued, but it wasn't until much later that he realized he had just met the man who was destined to become a major thorn in his side. Right now, his frown grew even more thunderous as he inquired of Klink:

"Who is this man?"

Klink immediately leapt up from behind the desk and greeted the newcomer effusively. "Ho-o-gan! Come in, come in, come in!"

Cohen stared at the two in shock.

_I think I have just lost control of this conversation._

To cover his confusion, he shouted: "Klink, I have just arrested you!"

Klink's smile was still in place, and he begged for some time to speak with Colonel Hogan.

_He wants to confer with his prisoner? What kind of looney bin have I landed myself in?_

"What has a prisoner to do with this? Is he part of the escape plot?" Cohen demanded.

Hogan exuded indignation, looking Cohen right in the eye. "No one has ever escaped from Stalag 13, Major! Right, Kommandant?"

"Right, Hogan!"

_What the **hell!** Guess all I can do is go along with these two lunatics._

"I will give you thirty seconds." Cohen made a show of looking at his watch. He didn't attempt to hide his exasperation—time was passing and still no sign of Brauner.

Cohen watched surreptitiously as the other two men drew to one side and whispered. He couldn't hear the conversation but it was apparent that his initial impression of the situation was correct—the true Kommandant of this camp was Hogan, not Klink.

_Fraternizing with the enemy? Or is one of them not what he appears to be? I wonder if London knows about this odd situation. Nah, they would've told me when I said I was going to Hammelburg. At least, I **think** they would've._

Eventually Klink broke off his conversation with Hogan and faced Cohen. "I regret I cannot let you have access to my guest."

Cohen eyed the Kommandant with disfavor. "You are defying me? I am notifying Berlin of this! They will have you drawn and quartered!"

Hogan, standing at Klink's side, regarded Cohen coldly. "The Kommandant is not allowing you to leave Stalag 13."

_Damn, this place is crazy! Who IS this man?_

_"WHO IS THIS MAN?"_ Enraged, Cohen turned to Klink. "You are presuming to arrest me, an officer of the Gestapo? Bah!"

With that, Cohen decided to beat a quick retreat. He had a sneaking feeling that somehow Hogan would indeed manage to get him arrested.

In the outer office, Cohen made a dutiful call to headquarters—Berlin, not London—and let them know what he was up against.

_I hate to call in the big guns but I need to locate Brauner. Of course, my Gestapo bosses don't need to know what I'll do with Brauner when I find him!_

Outside the Kommandantur, he conferred with his men. "We'll head back to Hammelburg for the night. By tomorrow morning Berlin will have straightened this mess out and Klink will have to give up his so-called guest." The group duly left the stalag for a more congenial location to spend the night.

* * *

The next morning, after directing his men to maintain surveillance outside the camp gates, Cohen was back in Klink's office, grateful that at least Hogan wasn't present, but stunned to find Klink still recalcitrant. "Do I understand you, Klink? You are not only defying me, you are defying Berlin?"

Klink didn't appear cowed. "Certainly not, Major Hochstetter, but I've received no word from Berlin."

_What the hell? Himmler was supposed to call Klink himself! Now what do I do?  
_

Cohen slapped his gloves on Klink's desk. "Then you are not only a traitor, you are a liar!"

Klink slowly rose from behind his desk. "Sir, as a German officer, I should resent that." He gave Cohen his ingratiating smile again. "But I don't!"

_Oh, brother. I have a feeling he's telling the truth, and somehow Hogan is behind it. Can a POW really have the ability to block all phone calls from Berlin? I wish I knew what this means for Brauner—right now I''ve got no authority to have him turned over to me. But I gotta try anyway._

Cohen went into full Hochstetter mode, slapping the desk again. "No more talk! You will deliver Brauner to me—at once!"

Once more they were interrupted by the ubiquitous Hogan, who flung open the office door and addressed Klink. "Can I talk to you for a moment, Kommandant?"

"Absolutely not."

"But _he_ wants to talk to you, sir—says it's an order!"

"There's no time, Klink..." Cohen desperately tried to regain control of the situation, but to no avail. He could only trail behind Hogan and Klink as they headed for Klink's quarters, where Klink's guest was presumably staying. He watched as Klink stood on the porch and held a conversation with someone through the closed door.

The discussion appeared to have a rejuvenating effect on Klink, who strutted down the porch steps and confronted Cohen.

Cohen eyed him sternly. "Well, Klink, are you ready to hand him over to me?"

Klink drew himself up to his full height. "Major Hochstetter, there is a new order coming, a new order that will sweep vermin like you into the delousing station of history! You are under arrest. Schultz!"

_Hell! What just happened here? And Hogan's standing right there smirking like an idiot._

"You're mad, Klink!"

Klink waved grandly. "Take him away!"

Cohen could do nothing but allow himself to be dragged off to the cooler by the Sergeant of the Guard.

* * *

And now here he sat, with all the time in the world to ponder the vagaries of fate and the irony of a Gestapo officer locked up in the cooler of a POW camp. It was obvious Klink and/or Hogan was determined to keep Brauner out of the hands of the Gestapo.

_That won't last, though. They've got me locked up, but headquarters will just send more officers, and Brauner will be as good as dead. I've got to get out of here so I can make sure Brauner is safe, then I can officially conclude the non-investigation._

To Cohen's surprise, however, he didn't have to fret for long. An official call from Heinrich Himmler himself inquiring into Hochstetter's whereabouts effected his release.

_How about that. Hogan gets me put in jail, and Himmler gets me out. The big guy himself. Himmler must have been really pissed when all his phone calls were blocked...I wonder how he finally got through? Makes me wonder who the good guys are sometimes...now to clear up this Brauner situation._

Klink hurried to keep up with Cohen as he strode towards Klink's quarters, frantically trying to apologize for the misunderstanding.

"Bah!" Cohen said, pulling out his Luger which had just been returned to him. He stomped up the steps and pounded on the door. "Brauner! Come out!"

Hogan opened the door. "You brought lunch?"

_Hogan again. It figures._

Cohen pushed past him, closely followed by Klink. He stared at the only other occupant in the room, a sergeant who looked an awful lot like Schultz, the Sergeant of the Guard who had put Cohen behind bars. "Who is this?"

Klink addressed the Sergeant, who was seated in an armchair. "What are you doing here?"

The sergeant looked at Klink blankly. "Who are _you_?"

Klink was baffled. "Schultz! What is the matter with you?"

Hogan said, "He told me he found the door open, and no one in here, so he came in."

Cohen looked at the Sergeant again, mentally picturing him with a goatee.

_This is Brauner, all right._

But all he said was, "Brauner has escaped?"

"Right," said Hogan, all innocence.

Klink's voice rose and he waved at the faux Sergeant wildly. "Then why are you sitting there? Go out and sound the alarm!"

"Take a staff car and go look for him?" Hogan suggested in a smooth aside to Klink.

"Take a staff car and go look for him!" said Klink.

_Say, that's a great idea. I won't have to arrest Brauner after all—in that uniform and traveling in a staff car he'll make it out of here, no problem. That's right, Herr Brauner. What are you waiting for? Get on the stick and get the hell out of here._

The supposed Sergeant rose ponderously to his feet. "Yes, sir."

Klink called out after him, _"Schnell!"_ He turned to Cohen. "Oh, Major, such men they send me! It's no wonder—"

"Brauner will get nowhere," Cohen assured Klink. "My men have ringed this camp with a band of steel."

_Well, I've got two guys wandering around outside the front gate, if you can call that a band of steel. But they won't stop a sergeant in a staff car. Perfect._

Cohen continued, "We have merely to sit—and wait." He suited his action to his words, settling into the armchair recently vacated by Brauner.

* * *

Somehow it was no surprise to Cohen when the real Schultz showed up at Klink's quarters a short time later, assuring Klink that he had just subdued a riot on the other side of the camp.

Klink squeaked, "Schultz, what are you talking about? I sent you after Brauner in a staff car!"

"Brauner?" asked Schultz, all at sea.

Hogan, who was now the current occupant of the armchair, spoke up. "I'm afraid, gentlemen, that the master of disguises has given you the slip."

Cohen knew very well what Hogan was talking about, but he asked it anyway. "What are you talking about?"

"Brauner. He very cleverly disguised himself as Schultz and left in a staff car. That's why your men didn't find him, Major."

_That smug look on Hogan's face is really getting on my nerves. So did Brauner dream all this up on his own, or did Hogan help him? Or was it Klink? Or both? I'm getting a headache._

"It could not happen," said Cohen.

"Impossible," said Klink.

Schultz confessed that he had met his _D__oppelgänger_ outside of Klink's quarters earlier—but then decided he had seen nothing, nothing after all.

Cohen had had enough for one day. He drew on his black leather gloves and glared at Klink. "Klink, I will have your head for this. When Berlin finds out what has happened..."

Hogan interrupted. "Better they didn't, wouldn't it, Major? After all, you were in charge of the case."

Cohen paused, eyeing Hogan thoughtfully.

_True, but all I need is a plausible excuse for not bringing Brauner back to headquarters._

He said (with what he hoped was a show of reluctance), "Well, yes, but what can I say?"

Hogan's reply was prompt. "Shot while escaping."

_Bingo!_

Hogan continued, "I'm quite sure if you don't press charges against the Kommandant here, he'll back you up all the way."

"Oh, my complete cooperation!" Klink assured Cohen.

_Works for me. My job here is done. Just as well...one more day in this place and I'd be ready to quit my job. Both of them._

* * *

Cohen rode back to Berlin in a thoughtful mood. After parting from his men at Gestapo headquarters, he got into his own car, a battered and nondescript Citroën. He stopped to collect Manfred, who complained somewhat fretfully, but agreed to come along again to act as lookout while Cohen contacted Mama Bear.

"Snow White to Mama Bear. Come in, Mama Bear."

"Mama Bear here, Snow White."

"Requesting confirmation of Daddy Warbucks' arrival."

"Affirmative. Daddy Warbucks is here and he's one of us now, Snow White. Good work."

"I had nothing to do with it, Mama Bear. Just a matter of sweeping some stuff under the rug."

"That's exactly what you're there for, Snow White."

"Can't tell you how good that makes me feel. Sir—about Daddy Warbucks' hideout—"

"You've met Laurel and Hardy."

"I guess you could say that. Are they—"

"Sorry, Snow White. That's on a need to know basis. And you don't."

"I figured you'd say that. Over and out."

Cohen shut down the apparatus and stared at Manfred, who stared back impassively.

_Those have to be the craziest two days I've ever spent. Let's hope for the sake of the war effort that I never have to do THAT again._


	4. A wedding at Stalag 13

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes, and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love._

_As always, when an actual scene from the episode is presented, actual dialogue from the scene is included. Cohen's thoughts, of course, are his own._

Major Hochstetter reluctantly returns to Stalag 13, and he's invited to a wedding! "Reverend Kommandant Klink" revisited.

* * *

Gestapo Headquarters, Berlin

Cohen wasn't sure what to expect when _Oberstleutnant_ Schuster summoned him to his office. His latest investigation had ended up just a little too close to Joseph Goebbels' nephew, and he had been instructed to discreetly back off. Since then he had been harmlessly occupied with bureaucratic busy work, which had the happy side effect of allowing him to access and photograph some top secret papers and get the photos off to London.

But this could be serious. Had he not covered his tracks well enough? Cohen shut the door behind him and Heil Hitler-ed his superior before he was instructed to take a seat.

Schuster hemmed and hawed a bit before he got to the point.

"Major, I know it's not your turn to be assigned out of town, but since you are familiar with the area..."

_Uh-oh._

"...and you've already met some of the people involved..."

_Oh, no. Say it ain't so._

"...I'd like you to take over the interrogation of an Allied pilot..."

_No no no no no!_

"...at Luftstalag 13."

_Damn! Just what I was afraid of._

"Yes, sir." Cohen was calm and politely deferential to his boss although fuming inside. "It would be an honor. May I have the particulars of the case?"

"Of course, Major Hochstetter." Schuster handed him a file. "There is a fair amount of background information on this fellow. You should be able to make use of it as leverage during your interrogation. He's French, you know, a member of the Free French operating out of London. We expect him to have some inside information on the location of the new airbase in Surrey."

"Very good, sir."

* * *

Later that evening, after a hurried meal at his Berlin apartment, Cohen and Manfred made their way to the hidden shortwave set up a few blocks away. Cohen parked the car in the shadows around the corner and he and Manfred approached the ruined building that housed the apparatus. Manfred prowled around the perimeter and then looked up at Cohen, switching his tail, indicating that the building was safe to enter.

Cohen fired up the radio while the cat took up a strategic position near the door. It took a few minutes before the hissing of static subsided.

"Snow White calling Mama Bear. Come in, Mama Bear."

"Mama Bear reading you loud and clear, Snow White."

"Reporting a new assignment at Stalag 13."

There was a pause, and then an indistinguishable sound was heard through the headphones.

"Mama Bear, you're breaking up."

"Sorry, Snow White, had a tickle in my throat. Returning to Stalag 13, are you?"

"Yes, sir. I'm assigned the interrogation of a downed pilot, Claude Boucher by name."

"I'm surprised that you'll be allowed to see him, since the Luftwaffe has jurisdiction over captured Allied airmen. Still, better you see him than one of your colleagues."

"Yes, sir."

"Interrogate him as instructed; we don't want you breaking your cover. But report back to us regarding anything he reveals, and his eventual disposition."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and Snow White? Try not to get into trouble with the locals."

Cohen rolled his eyes. "No, sir. Over and out."

* * *

Hammelburg was only about five hours away, but Cohen figured he'd be gone for a couple of days and left plenty of food and water for Manfred. He packed swiftly and then took a few minutes to review Boucher's file before he left the apartment.

Planning an interrogation was always a touchy business, and Cohen wanted to be prepared for this. He had a reputation at the Gestapo for being borderline psychotic when interviewing suspects, but in reality it was all a sham. His interrogations were, in fact, exercises in concealing rather than extracting information, and he _always_ played to his audience. He drew on all of his theatrical experience when staging an interrogation, and had big plans for future lectures on the subject for his students at Columbia once the war was over. If it ever _was_ over.

In this case, his subject was a fellow thespian, a twenty-seven year old aspiring actor who had become a pilot in 1939, and escaped to England just before the fall of France in 1940. He had a fiancée, also in the theatrical profession, whom he had not seen for over three years.

_Hmm._

A young pilot, an actor, away from his girl for years? Cohen thought about it for awhile. He had no desire to get the young man to talk, but he had to put on a good show. No physical abuse - Cohen had never been forced to do that, and he wasn't going to start now. But if he taunted Boucher about this girl, what harm could that do? Boucher would probably laugh in his face - maybe he didn't even remember her. But it certainly would be in character for Hochstetter to take that route.

However, there was a wild card in this scenario. Boucher was being held prisoner at Stalag 13 and anything could (and probably would) happen.

* * *

Stalag 13, the next day

_Boy, did I call that one wrong._

Cohen was taken aback by the anguished expression in Boucher's eyes as the young pilot sat in Klink's office. It was all too apparent that Cohen's derogatory remarks about the Frenchman's fiancée had struck home. Cohen felt a pang of guilt for the man's distress, and decided to drop the subject of the fiancée.

Instead, he said urbanely: "Your fighter group we already know, the location of your airbase we know approximately; if we could just clear this up for our records..."

"I will never tell you that!" Boucher's tone was defiant, but he was visibly shaken and Cohen realized he had gone too far.

_Damn. Don't start talking now, kid...there are real live Krauts in this room._

Klink said to Boucher, "Lieutenant, I would not advise you to defy Major Hochstetter. He has ways of extracting information that are _most_ unpleasant..."

Cohen interrupted. "No, no, no, Klink. There is time...let him make up his own mind. Back to solitary, young man, and think about it. We will talk again tomorrow."

_And I need to think up a new game plan. I don't want this kid spilling any secrets if I can help_ _it._

* * *

The next morning, back in Klink's office, Cohen addressed the young French pilot again.

"Look at your situation realistically, Boucher. You have lost the war, you have lost your fiancée, and now you have lost your liberty. Who can make life bearable for you, eh? Your friends - the Germans!"

_Ha! Like he's gonna fall for that._

Cohen continued, "Sooner or later we will find the position of your airbase without you, so why not get something out of it yourself?"

_And now I'm insulting the poor sap. I'll be lucky if he doesn't punch me in the nose._

Cohen personally thought that he was stiffening Boucher's resolve rather than weakening it, but apparently Colonel Hogan thought otherwise, for at that moment _Fräulein_ Hilda ushered the American into Klink's office.

Hogan said, "Colonel Klink, I know it's just an oversight, but I haven't yet been able to advise this prisoner of his rights under the Geneva Convention. That's why I'm here."

Cohen had a very vivid memory of his last encounter with the annoying Colonel Hogan, but he chose to ask Klink politely, "Who is this man?"

Klink ignored him and said to Hogan, "We are conducting an interrogation and I order you to leave at once!"

"All right," said Hogan agreeably. "Let's talk about something else."

Cohen decided to throw himself into his role. "WHO IS THIS MAN?"

Hogan ignored him as well. "Morale is very low among the men, Kommandant, so we're putting on a camp show tonight. Say, we could write in a part for you, sir! It's one of those character pieces, but those kind make or break a production."

Klink protested, "You're not writing in anything for me!"

Hogan shrugged. "Well, we can work out the fine details later on. All I need is your permission for the show idea."

Klink waved him away. "You have it. Now leave."

Just as Hogan reached the door, he turned and indicated Boucher, who had been sitting quietly all this time. "Say, is this man an actor? He'd be perfect for the part, perfect!"

Tired of being upstaged by Hogan, Cohen struck Klink's desk with both hands. "WHO...IS...THIS...MAN?"

Hogan said affably, just as if he had never met Hochstetter before, "Colonel Hogan, Major. But of course, you won't let us have him for the show, so forget I mentioned it."

"I've forgotten it," Klink assured Hogan.

Cohen thought quickly, narrowing his eyes as he took in the bland expression on Hogan's face.

_I'm sure Hogan's got a plan. Best to just go with the flow._

"Wait," he said. "Boucher was an actor. It might be enjoyable for him."

Hogan said sadly, "So you won't let us have him."

Cohen smiled his Hochstetter smile. "Why not? We are his friends. You may have him for the performance only, under close supervision."

Hogan grudgingly agreed, then asked, "Could I watch him drink a glass of water?"

Baffled, Klink asked, "Why?"

"It's an old Stanislavsky test of acting ability - I want to make sure he's right for the part." Hogan poured out a glass of water and gave it to the bemused Boucher, who shrugged and drank it down.

"Did you see that?" Hogan enthused. "This man has the makings of a star!" He then took his leave, briefly saluting Klink and Cohen.

Cohen watched him go, and then resumed his half-hearted questioning of Boucher, only to find the pilot had fallen fast asleep. On a hunch, he picked up the glass Boucher had drunk from and sniffed it. His mustache twitched as he realized what Hogan had done.

_Why, you son of a gun. You weren't about to let the Gestapo get anything out of Boucher - good for you._

Klink was confused. "Why is he sleeping?"

Cohen said, "I suspect your thoroughly cowed Colonel Hogan. Later on we will make a surprise inspection. He may be too smart for you, but not for me."

_Sorry, Hogan. That was a pretty neat trick, but I have to make a pretense of investigating this._

* * *

A short time later, Cohen and Klink were ushered into Barracks 2 by Sergeant Schultz for the surprise inspection. An awkward moment ensued when Schultz admitted that one of the barracks residents was missing.

A bit surprised, Cohen said, "Aha! We have uncovered something."

"Corporal LeBeau is missing, sir," Hogan said. "He didn't escape - he's in my office."

Cohen and Hogan headed for the office, only to be met by a diminutive Frenchman in a red sweater, who said cheekily, "Someone ask for me?"

Cohen watched LeBeau saunter over to join the rest of the prisoners.

"There's something afoot here, Klink, I smell it!" He turned his attention to Hogan, eyeing him closely. "Perhaps we should search your office."

Immediately Hogan said, "Oh, please do, I'm so proud of it! I want you to see how we furnished it in orange crate modern." He went to the office door and opened it partway, gesturing with his other hand.

_I have to give the guy credit, he's got guts! But I don't think I'll tax his ingenuity any further._

Cohen stepped up to Hogan, carefully not looking into the office doorway. "No, you are too eager."

Hogan snapped his fingers. "Blew it!" He reached into the office and pulled the door closed.

Cohen assumed his most menacing expression, just for the heck of it. "But from now on, my eye will be upon you."

"Good...good," Hogan said absently, obviously not one bit intimidated. Then he turned to Klink. "By the way, Kommandant, I've got bad news for you. Somebody else is going to take your part - we thought you were a little short."

"Hogan, I have no intention of playing it!"

Cohen had been watching this little byplay and decided to intervene. "You _will_ play it."

"I'll play it!" Klink exclaimed. Then he turned to Cohen. "I will?"

Cohen said, "If this man wants you out, I want you in - to watch what is going on." He turned to Hogan, tapping his temple significantly. "Years of understanding the criminal mind - you cannot compete against it."

Hogan said meekly, "I wouldn't even try."

_The criminal mind just about describes it. I know Hogan would've manipulated Klink into acting in this little show eventually but I, for one, am not getting any younger. Just thought I'd give the situation a little push._

* * *

Later on, backstage at the recreation hall, Cohen lurked to one side, watching the preparations. His erstwhile secretary, _Fräulein_ Hilda, was dressed as a bride for the scene with Boucher, and very nice she looked, too. Cohen sighed and shook his head.

_Hard to tell how deeply she's involved with this nutty setup at Stalag 13. I just hope she's not taking too many chances - I didn't get her out of Berlin only to have her risk her neck here._

He watched as Hogan gave last minute instructions to the principal players, and then Hogan took his arm.

"Major, shall we go out front and watch the show?"

Cohen sat beside Hogan in the audience and watched Klink perform a wedding ceremony with Boucher and his heavily veiled bride.

_Wait a minute - the bride gave her name as Suzanne - wasn't that the name of Boucher's fiancée? And now that he's lifted the veil - that sure as hell isn't Hilda! Could Hogan possibly have contrived to get Boucher married for real? But why?_

Hogan said to Cohen, "Wasn't it marvelous?"

Cohen said in genuine bewilderment, "What _was_ it?"

* * *

The next morning, in Klink's office, Cohen confronted Klink, Schultz, and _Fräulein_ Hilda. He had a nasty, suspicious image to maintain, and no way was he going to leave this camp without registering _some_ degree of outrage.

"I am telling you, Klink, that something was going on last night, I smelled it!"

Klink protested. "Major, nothing happened! It was a show!"

Cohen swung around to face Schultz. "You kept Boucher in sight every minute during the rest of the show?"

Schultz's round blue eyes grew even rounder as he asked innocently, "Me, _Herr Major?_ I was supposed to?"

Cohen shook his head and turned to Klink's secretary. "_Fräulein_ Hilda, you saw what Boucher was doing at all times during the evening?"

Hilda smiled demurely. "You know how it is, Major. Once a woman marries a man, some of the interest is gone."

Cohen could not help smiling in return.

_Cool as a cucumber, you are. I don't think I need to worry about you here...seems to me you fit right in._

"Yes, yes, quite right. Perhaps nothing happened after all." He gave Hilda a gallant little bow as she rose and left the office.

As soon as she was gone, Boucher was ushered into the office and he stood at attention before Klink's desk.

"Good morning, Lieutenant!" Cohen said genially. "I hope you enjoyed performing again last night."

"Oh, yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"It was nothing, nothing. We are your friends, no?"

"Of course, definitely!"

"Then, just between friends, perhaps this morning you are ready to give us the position of that airbase, eh?"

_One last try, for Klink's benefit. Can't look like I'm falling down on the job._

"Well," Boucher leaned close to Cohen and continued in a confidential tone, "I can tell you that my name is Claude Boucher, that my rank is first lieutenant, that my serial number is 42105513, that is all!"

"ALL?" shrieked Cohen.

"ALL?" echoed Klink.

"All," said Boucher, with a decisive nod. "May I be excused, sir?"

_Well, I'm glad that's over. Never did like interrogating prisoners. But, like Mama Bear said, I have to maintain my cover. So I'll go out with a bang._

"No!" Cohen shouted. "If that is your attitude I should take you back to Berlin with me and _force_ the information out of you!"

At this, Hogan burst into the office in his usual manner, but his voice carried an unusual ring of authority.

"I'm afraid Hermann Göring wouldn't approve of that, sir. You know, we've got a lot more of his flyboys in English camps than he has of ours."

"You stay out of this!" said Cohen.

"Major Hochstetter, it is true," Klink interjected. "Any transfer of prisoners has to be passed on by Luftwaffe headquarters..."

_Well, it was an idle threat anyway. But I must say I'm impressed. Hogan might be a con man and Klink an idiot, but neither of them hesitated to stand up to the Gestapo for this POW._

"May I be excused now, sir?" asked Boucher again.

Cohen gesticulated wildly. "Go! What do I care? I doubt if the Luftwaffe could scrape together enough planes to bomb your airbase anyway!"

_And that's the truth. Time to drop the curtain on this performance and get the hell out of here_.


	5. A femme fatale

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love. As always, when an actual scene from the episode is presented, actual dialogue from the scene is included._ _Cohen's thoughts, of course, are his own._

Major Hochstetter enlists the aid of a femme fatale in his investigation of Stalag 13. The inside story of "Sergeant Schultz Meets Mata Hari".

* * *

Gestapo Headquarters, Berlin

Cohen waited patiently as he watched Oberstleutnant Schuster pace the office from one end to the other. Obviously something was on his superior's mind.

"Major Hochstetter, I am afraid I need to send you out of town again."

_Why do I get the feeling that the word Hammelburg is going to enter the conversation?_

"We have a new factory just starting production outside of Hammelburg."

_I must be psychic._

"This factory is very important to the war effort - it will be producing high-velocity armor piercing shells. Allied tanks will have no chance against these! For this reason, the purpose of this factory is being kept top secret, and workers are being brought in from Berlin." Schuster ceased his pacing and stood over his desk, pointing to a map spread out on it.

Cohen came closer to look at it. It was a map of Hammelburg and the surrounding area, including Stalag 13. There were a great many red marks dotted all over it, and Cohen looked up at Schuster inquiringly.

"The location for the factory is ideal, except that sabotage activities are particularly prevalent in this area, more so than any other area in Germany, in fact. Security for the new factory, therefore, is of extreme concern to us."

Cohen made a token protest. "Sir, what of our local headquarters in Hammelburg?"

Schuster shook his head. "Heydrich is a good man, but he has been frustrated for the past year trying to deal with the sabotage incidents, which are undoubtedly due to underground activity. At this point, I doubt if he can see the woods for the trees. What we need is a fresh look at the situation, without preconceived notions."

He tapped the map. "I want you to go down there to assure security for this new factory. I am giving you all the particulars of their operation so you know what you'll be dealing with. You will need to conduct an investigation of all the usual suspects in the Hammelburg area, but I want you to include Luft Stalag 13. It is located in the center of the sabotage activity."

Cohen felt a cold chill go over him.

_Oh, my God. I knew Hogan was up to something, but I never dreamed it was this big. Sabotage? He must be involved with the underground somehow. Maybe Klink's involved too. And Schuster wants to focus an investigation on Stalag 13 - the whole camp could be facing the firing squad! _

Cohen said, "A prison camp? Surely nothing could be more secure."

Schuster nodded. "You would think so - they've never even had a successful escape from Stalag 13. But we need to look into this - all these incidents in one area cannot be a coincidence. Search the camp, question everyone - prisoners and guards alike. And I want you to go a step further."

"Sir?"

"We have an agent that I would like you to use - Eva Müller. Perhaps you've heard of her."

_Oh, I've heard of her all right. That woman is evil._

"Yes, sir. She specializes in extracting information from susceptible men utilizing her sex appeal."

"Exactly. Now, I want you to assign her to someone at the camp - you've been there, you know the people, so I will leave it up to you who she will be dealing with. She should be able to give you valuable inside information that will assist in your investigation. Any questions?"

"No, sir."

...

That evening, Cohen sat after dinner, smoking a cigar and thinking about the challenge ahead. Sensing his unease, Manfred jumped onto his knee and rubbed his head against Cohen's arm. Cohen stroked the cat absently.

"This could be very bad, Manfred. I don't know what they're up to at Stalag 13 and I've always tried not to find out, especially since London has made it clear I have to be kept in the dark. So far I've just covered up some minor incidents, but this plan of Schuster's could blow the whole thing wide open. I think it's time they let me into the loop."

A short time later he and Manfred were at the hidden shortwave location. Manfred did his lookout duty while Cohen fiddled with the radio.

"Snow White calling Mama Bear. Come in, Mama Bear."

"Mama Bear here, Snow White."

"Mama Bear, I have a new assignment in Hammelburg."

"Again?"

"New factory there, top secret. I have information on it."

"Possible target?"

"Definitely. But there's a snag. I'm ordered to do an in-depth investigation of Stalag 13 for security reasons."

"I see."

"Sir, the men there are at risk of exposure if any of them are involved in underground activity. I need to warn them."

There was a silence for a time. "We can't have you breaking your cover. And your information needs to get to the underground for further action. I will have you meet with one of their agents, a man named Kurt - code name, Mother Goose. You will transfer the information directly to him, and he will notify his contact at Stalag 13 of the reason for the Gestapo's interest in them. Your underground contact will decide if he needs any...ah...additional assistance regarding the target."

"Yes, sir."

"As for your investigation..."

"I'll do my best to bungle it, sir."

"Righto. Knew we could count on you, Snow White."

"Mama Bear, I've been ordered to use a female Gestapo agent, name of Eva Müller, in the investigation. Any information you can give me on her would help."

"Understood. Stand by."

After receiving information on the Müller woman and details on how to reach his underground contact, Cohen signed off.

_Well, that's confirmation of a sort. Somebody at Stalag 13 is involved with the underground and taking part in sabotage in the Hammelburg area. And this time I'm going to be a part of it - I sure hope nobody gets caught._

_..._

The following evening, dressed in nondescript civilian attire and muffled up against the cold, Cohen waited at the edge of a dark and lonely road a few miles outside of Hammelburg. A low whistle caught his attention.

He gave the password and received the correct reply. "Mother Goose?"

A man stepped into view. "You must be Snow White."

Cohen handed the man a sheaf of folded papers. "Details of the new factory. Security will be tight but I've indicated where the gaps are."

"_Danke." _With that, the underground agent faded back into the darkness without a sound.

...

The next morning Cohen found himself in Kommandant Klink's office. While Klink rambled on in his usual inconsequential manner, Cohen wandered around the room casually. He discovered three listening devices, the most obvious one being disguised as the microphone in a photograph of Hitler giving a speech.

_Pretty sneaky. If I didn't know Hogan was in the outer office, I bet he'd be listening in right now. _

As Klink wound down, Cohen decided to take over the conversation. He indicated a map on the wall and Klink came over to look at it.

"Hammelburg has been chosen as the ideal location for the new factory. Proximity to Düsseldorf, and a good supply of power."

_And that's why Germany will lose the war. Hammelburg isn't anywhere near Düsseldorf!_

"An excellent choice, Major Hochstetter!"

"I'm so glad you approve," Cohen said drily.

_Klink has such a goofy, innocuous look on his face. Hard to believe he could be part of the underground. But if he is, this will be a warning to him as well as Hogan._

"This plant will produce a new, high-velocity armor piercing shell. This is top secret! The entire area around here, including Stalag 13, must be secure."

"And so it is," said Klink with a complacent air.

Cohen fixed Klink with an enraged glare. "It is not! In the last year, there have been more acts of sabotage around this camp than any other place in Germany - why?"

"But there's never been a successful escape from Stalag 13," Klink pointed out.

_He doesn't seem bothered a bit._

"You keep saying that, but it is not an answer to my question! But the Gestapo will get the answer!"

Cohen walked over to the office door and opened it. "Send in Colonel Hogan!"

Hogan walked in and saluted Colonel Klink. "You sent for me, Kommandant?"

"_I_ sent for you, Hogan," Cohen said.

"Major Hochstetter has been conducting an investigation," Klink told Hogan.

Cohen pointed to the map. "Hogan, in the last twelve months in the area here, three bridges have been blown up, two trains destroyed, a research laboratory destroyed_,_ a small arms factory burnt down, and at least twelve officers and men of the Wehrmacht have disappeared completely. How would you explain this?"

Hogan said, "It just hasn't been a good year."

_Good grief! Isn't he the least bit concerned about having the Gestapo questioning him? Schuster is way too suspicious of this camp and Hogan is sitting on a time bomb._

Cohen allowed his voice to rise. "Hogan, all of these acts of sabotage have taken place within a short distance of this camp. Why?"

"Search me."

Cohen walked up to Hogan and sneered. "That, Colonel Hogan, is exactly what I intend to do. Search you...and every inch of Stalag 13!"

Hogan looked from Cohen to Klink. "Well, gentlemen, if that's all, I'll be on my way." He headed for the door.

"You are most anxious to get out of here," Cohen observed.

"If there's going to be a search, I don't know about you guys, but I've got things to hide!" He left, shutting the door behind him.

_I just bet you do. But I'll try not to find them._

_..._

During the search of Barracks 2, Cohen watched as his men disarranged items and tore open mattresses.

_Wish I had a dime for every time I've searched this barracks._ _Well, they're making a big mess, but of course nothing of importance would be hidden in a mattress. This is all show and no substance._

The man named Carter protested as the mattress was pulled from his bunk.

"Hey, what are you doing with my mattress? Hey, leave it alone, you're ruining it! I'm reporting this to the Red Cross."

One of Cohen's men slit it open and a two foot long cylinder was removed.

_Oops. Guess there's something there after all._

Cohen took the cylinder. "Aha! The first piece of evidence."

Carter tried to take the cylinder from Cohen. "Hey, that's mine!"

Hogan intervened. "Easy, Carter, easy."

Cohen opened the cylinder and pulled out a rolled up paper. He spread it out and gave an inward sigh of relief. It was a poster of Rita Hayworth, looking quite fetching in some scanty lingerie.

"Ach! That's of no interest," he said.

"Depends on how long you've been away from home," Hogan told him.

_Very funny, smart guy._

Behind him, one of Cohen's men was stomping experimentally on the wooden floor. Each stomp produced an echo.

Cohen turned at the sound. "Aha! Was ist los_?_"

The man stomped again, with the echo sounding. It didn't really seem like a hollow sound to Cohen, but he made an issue of it.

"It is hollow under this stove! There is a tunnel there."

"Impossible!" Klink said.

"Of course - it's a terrible place for a tunnel!" Hogan said. He addressed the prisoners present. "Who put a tunnel here?"

Cohen stomped the floor a couple of times himself. A belated echo sounded and all eyes turned to LeBeau, who had just stomped the floor on the other side of the room.

"LeBeau!" Hogan said in a warning tone.

"Sorry, Colonel. I lost the beat," LeBeau apologized.

Cohen had difficulty hiding a smile, but he said sternly, "Klink! See to it that this man is punished."

"Two days in solitary confinement!" Klink said.

"Give him three days and some music lessons," Hogan suggested.

Just then, one of Cohen's men came up with a green box of obviously homemade manufacture. This was far too easily found, and Cohen was sure it was a ploy of some kind, but he feigned excitement over the discovery.

"Aha!"

Klink came over to Cohen and peered at the box. "That appears to be a homemade radio!"

"Yes, a radio," Cohen agreed. "Most ingenious." He looked up at Hogan. "Is this what you use to receive messages from outside?"

"No comment." Hogan said flatly.

Agitated, Klink said to Hogan, "Answer the Major's question!"

Cohen forestalled him. "Never mind." He opened the box and both he and Klink jumped when a spring-loaded snake popped out.

_Well, I guess I'm lucky it wasn't anything deadly._

He pulled out a folded-up piece of paper from the snake, opened it and read it aloud.

"Sorry...no radio."

_It's awfully hard to stay in character when Hogan and company pull these kinds of stunts._

Cohen turned to Klink, trying to appear outraged. "Klink, you are the Kommandant here! Do you allow this sort of thing?"

Klink said, "The men responsible for this will be confined to barracks for two weeks!"

Hands on hips, Hogan said, "That's cruel and inhuman punishment!"

Entering into the spirit of the exchange, Cohen said, "Klink, a German officer has been insulted!"

"All potato rations are cut in half for ten days!" Klink added.

"That's a terrible thing to do!" Hogan protested.

Cohen said between clenched teeth, "Do you consider this adequate punishment, KOM-MAN-DANT?"

Klink thought for a moment, then said triumphantly, "The ping-pong tournament is canceled!"

"Now that's the worst blow of all!" Hogan said.

_Actually, that's probably the most harmless punishment. Let's leave it at that. And I'll pretend I never noticed that there's something funny about that bunk by the window._

_..._

Later that day, at Gestapo headquarters in Hammelburg, Cohen met with Eva Müller, as had been arranged by Oberstleutnant Schuster. She was a sultry blonde of indeterminate age, but undeniably attractive.

"Fräulein Müller, you understand our concerns regarding Stalag 13. A search has already been conducted of the camp. We have turned the place inside out, and found nothing. That alone is suspicious."

_Suspicious is right. I suspect I'd find a whole tunnel system and a hidden radio in that camp if_ _I looked closely enough. As it was, besides the listening devices and that bunk, I found what I think is a hidden tunnel entrance in the woods, but I was careful to steer my men away from it. I'm going to have to be especially creative in my report to headquarters this time._

Eva leaned forward to tap the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray. "The Kommandant of Stalag 13 - he doesn't know anything?"

_Oh, no, we can't go there. I can't risk you talking to Klink - he may know too much. No, I've got a much safer guy in mind._

"Fräulein, you've asked the question and answered it at the same time. No, I am convinced that the only way we will get information is by working from the inside."

"I agree."

Cohen leaned close to the woman, who was seated in a chair in front of the desk. "Fräulein Müller, you are one of the most...experienced agents we have in the Geheime Staatspolizei_. _I am relying on you."

She smiled evilly. "I will do my best, Herr Major."

Cohen tried to chuckle evilly in return but he just couldn't do it. Something about this woman made his skin crawl. He backed away and went to the desk, picking up a photograph from it.

"Now, this man is one of the guards at Stalag 13. It is possible that he has information without even knowing he has it. Your mission is to gain his confidence, get him interested in you. Make him talk."

She rose from the chair and took the photograph of Sergeant Schultz from Cohen's hand. "It should not be too difficult. This one looks stupid."

_Oh, I'm counting on it. There is no way he could actually give you anything useful._

"Why not?" Cohen said. "He studied under Colonel Klink."

...

The next day, Cohen confronted Eva Müller again in the office at Gestapo headquarters in Hammelburg.

"Nonsense! Do you mean to tell me this is the most information that you could receive? Schultz is sergeant of the guard at Stalag 13! Are you trying to tell me that he doesn't know what's going on in his own camp?"

Eva said coldly, "In my opinion, there is nothing to be gained from this contact."

_Too bad, lady. That's the idea - I don't want you to gain anything from him._

"I am not interested in your opinion, Fräulein. Schultz is our only lead! You will continue to see him, and you will make every effort to get information from him. Understood?" Cohen assumed his most intimidating expression.

Her eyes glittered with dislike. "Understood, Herr Major."

...

Later that evening Cohen was called back to Stalag 13. He found himself in Colonel Klink's office, where Schultz was being questioned by the Kommandant regarding his dealings with the mysterious Fräulein Müller. Cohen listened intently, wondering why Klink was concerned about Schultz's little romance.

"And how long did you know this woman?" Klink said to Schultz.

"Almost two weeks, Herr Kommandant."

"And were you romantically involved with her?"

"I fall in love very fast," said Schultz apologetically.

Hogan, who was also present, said, "It's war, sir - everything speeded up."

"Silence!" said Klink.

Cohen, who had been standing in the background quietly, spoke up. "We have only your word for this."

"He's telling the truth, Major," said Hogan. "He came to me for advice."

"Schultz, why didn't you come to your commanding officer?" Klink reproached the sergeant. "You know my door is always open when my men have problems."

Schultz said, "I needed _good _advice." At Klink's threatening gesture, he added hurriedly, "Herr Kommandant, I mean, you are so busy with the war."

"Schultz, you dummkopf, you talked about Stalag 13 to a stranger?"

"I don't have many friends," Schultz offered by way of explanation.

"Schultz, you're a fool. I'm going to break you for this - I will have you march a post for the rest of the war!"

Hogan spoke up. "You can't blame him, sir, for falling into the hands of a spy."

"A spy?" Klink shook a finger in Schultz's face. "You will march a post in the next war too!"

Cohen sighed and decided to come forward. "Relax, Colonel, the woman is not a spy. Eva Müller is one of our agents. Her mission is to check security in Stalag 13."

Schultz looked at him, eyes wide. "But, Herr Major, the Gestapo arrested her."

_What?_

"What? I gave no such orders!" Cohen growled.

Hogan grinned. "Nobody tells him anything."

_You said it, Hogan. What the hell happened to her? I've got an awfully funny feeling about this..._

Just then Klink's phone rang and Klink picked it up. "The new factory was blown up? Sabotaged? Burning out of control completely? Heil Hitler!" He hung up the phone and turned to Cohen and Hogan, aghast.

Cohen muttered, "How is this possible?" but inside he was relieved.

_Oh boy, sounds like Kurt and his group did the trick, all right. All these years of intelligence gathering and this is the first time I've been able to see the direct result. Those armor piercing shells will never attack Allied tanks now! Of course, since I'm in charge of security for the factory, it's a disaster for Hochstetter. But it was worth it - no matter what I have to face in Berlin._

"It's possible, Major," said Klink. "One of the guards found a handbag near the factory. It contained identification for Fräulein Eva Müller, member of the Gestapo."

_The plot thickens. The underground must have kidnapped Eva and used her as the fall guy for the sabotage. Were they the "Gestapo" Schultz was talking about? But how did they know about her?_

Hogan put in, "Don't look now, Major, but your Mata Hari is showing."

Klink continued, "Obviously Schultz's girlfriend is a double agent."

"No, no..." Cohen went to the door and yanked it open, but was held up by Klink, who wanted to gloat.

"Major Hochstetter! You would do very well to protect your own security, instead of worrying about Stalag 13."

Cohen glared at him. "I will find that woman if I have to turn Germany inside out!" He slammed the door shut as he left the office.

...

Driving back to Berlin, Cohen was prey to what could only be described as mixed emotions. His primary Gestapo assignment was a complete failure: the factory was destroyed. Of course, he knew that would happen the minute he gave the information on the factory to the underground agent Kurt.

_But I have to wonder if the underground acted alone. Klink and/or Hogan couldn't have been directly involved, they were both in Klink's office with me and Schultz when the sabotage occurred. Doesn't mean they didn't help plan it, though, or have subordinates act for them._

On the plus side, apparently Kurt's group had managed to kidnap Eva Müller and leave her handbag at the scene of the crime, to implicate her as the saboteur.

_And nobody deserved it more, if half the things I was told about her are true. Schuster is going to be very unhappy with me, but since it's his fault Eva was mixed up in this in the first place, he won't be able to say much about it. But I doubt if he'll send me back to Stalag 13!_


	6. The snowman

_A/N:_ _I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love. As always, when an actual scene from the episode is presented, actual dialogue from the scene is included. Cohen's thoughts, of course, are his own._

Major Hochstetter has a new assignment, and it's a real snow job. "Everybody Loves a Snowman", Cohen's POV.

* * *

Gestapo Headquarters, Berlin

It's never pleasant to be summoned to the boss's office, and for Cohen today was no exception. The weather was terrible, and he'd had a tough time just getting in to headquarters. And now Oberstleutnant Schuster was pacing back and forth in front of his desk until Cohen felt dizzy.

"Major, some very bad news today. An American bombing raid hit Hammelburg yesterday, and Gestapo headquarters there was destroyed, killing Kommandant Heydrich."

"Terrible news, sir."

"I want you to go down there and take his place."

_What! Who, me?_

"Sir?"

"You've made several visits to the Hammelburg area, and you are familiar with Stalag 13."

_Oh, this gets better and better._

"Yes, sir."

"The bomber that destroyed our headquarters was shot down, and we have evidence that the crew jumped to safety, but no fliers have been found. We think they might have taken refuge at Stalag 13."

_Where else?_

"Unlikely, sir. How would they get in?"

"How should I know?" said Schuster impatiently. "It's cold outside - they had to shelter somewhere! This will be your first job as chief of the Hammelburg office. Find out what happened to those men!"

_Better I should go anyway. Somebody else might actually find them._

"Yes, sir."

"Take a couple of men with you. Since the original garrison was destroyed, we've appropriated a couple of rooms at the Hammelburg Public Library."

"The _library, _sir_?"_

"Why not? It's an imposing building; hang a swastika out front and it'll look quite official. Besides, it's less likely to be a target for Allied bombers."

"There is that, sir."

...

That evening Cohen and Manfred braved the weather and made a quick trip to the hidden shortwave location. Cohen wasn't sure what London's reaction would be to his change of assignment; surely being stationed in the small town of Hammelburg would be detrimental to his ability to gather high-level intelligence. Cohen wasn't even sure if London would want him to continue in his role as Major Wolfgang Hochstetter. But he needed to notify them before he left.

The ramshackle building was almost snowed under. Manfred made his usual reconnaissance of the structure but he wasn't happy about it; he shook the snow distastefully from his paws and then took up his station by the door, pointedly ignoring Cohen.

"Snow White calling Mama Bear. Come in, Mama Bear."

"Mama Bear here, Snow White."

"Need to advise you of a change of venue. New permanent assignment, Hammelburg.'

"Hammelburg, eh? Your presence in Berlin will be missed."

"Yes, sir."

"But I think we can keep you busy in your new home. Underground contacts there will be notified."

"And Stalag 13? My first assignment is to search the camp for some downed Allied fliers."

"Maintain cover, Snow White. You know what to do...just don't search too thoroughly."

"Understood, Mama Bear. Over and out."

The next morning Cohen made temporary arrangements for Manfred and notified Schmidt and Müller of their new assignment. He thought about packing up the shortwave set, but decided to leave it until he could return alone to Berlin; he'd collect Manfred and the shortwave then, without risking arousing the curiosity of his men.

Now off to Hammelburg...

...

Cohen and his men made it to Stalag 13 safely, despite the storm still raging, and Cohen immediately went to Klink's office.

"Ah, Major Hochstetter! Come in, come in! Always nice to see your smiling face!" Klink was his usual inane self. "Are you here on military business, or is it a social call?"

Cohen was cold and disgruntled and it was no stretch for him to play Hochstetter today. "I don't pay anybody a social call!"

"What can I do for you, Major Hochstetter?"

Cohen pulled off his gloves. "Are you aware that last Monday night, an American plane dropped a bomb on Gestapo headquarters, demolished the building, wiped out the garrison, killed Kommandant Heydrich, knocked the Führer's picture off the wall...and... and everything!"

"No, sir, I was playing pinochle with Captain Gröhnschmiel..."

"It was a great personal loss to me," Cohen growled.

_And I'm not kidding. Not only will I be a sitting duck for my own country to bomb me to smithereens, I will now be living just three miles from this nuthouse!_

"It was a great personal loss to me," interjected Klink. "He took me for fifty marks."

Cohen ignored this. "But our anti-aircraft shot down the bomber..."

"That's good!" said Klink.

"But the crew parachuted to safety..."

"That's bad," said Klink.

"But we know where they are hiding!"

"That's good!" said Klink. "Where?"

"Here!"

"Impossible!"

"Impossible?" Cohen glared at Klink. "We shall see. I am ordering my men to search every inch of this camp."

_Shouldn't take long. They must know it by heart by now; they just never find anything. And they won't this time either._

Klink was indignant. "But sir! _I_ am Kommandant of Stalag 13!"

Cohen took off his cap and seated himself at Klink's desk. "That is exactly why I am ordering the search."

"Major Hochstetter, may I remind you that my record here is impeccable? No enemy soldier has ever gotten out of Stalag 13!"

With a flickering glance at the hidden microphone concealed in the picture of Hitler on the wall, Cohen said, "But how is your record on enemy soldiers getting _in _to Stalag 13?"

Klink was taken aback. "What are you driving at?"

"We have searched this area and we have come to the conclusion that those fliers might very well be hiding in this very camp!"

_Hogan, I hope you are listening. Schuster only suspects those fliers are here, but I'm sure of it. You'd better make sure they're well hidden and that you get them out of here as soon as possible._

Klink said, "Are you suggesting that those men are _here?_"

"Exactly."

"But why would an enemy soldier trying to escape try to hide in a prisoner of war camp?"

"They might very well hide here until the search is over and then make their escape."

_And I've got a feeling that this isn't the first time it's happened here. I've got to try to keep Hogan's operation under wraps and still conduct an investigation that will satisfy Schuster._

Klink laughed uneasily. "Not in Stalag 13!"

"I am taking no chances. I am ordering my men to search every barracks for anything suspicious, especially tunnels."

_You hear that, Hogan? Tunnels!_

Seeing Klink pick up the telephone receiver_, _Cohen said, "What are you doing, Klink?"

"I am calling General Burkhalter. I will not allow the Gestapo to take over my camp!"

Cohen sighed. Unfortunately, Schuster had anticipated this and had contacted Burkhalter personally. He handed Klink a paper. "Here is General Burkhalter's written permission."

Klink hung up the phone and assumed his most ingratiating expression. "Make yourself at home, Major Hochstetter. My camp is your camp."

"The General has given me forty-eight hours to find the Americans."

"Why are you in such a hurry?" said Klink. "Take your time."

"I am going to begin the search with Barracks 1," Cohen said.

_Got that, Hogan?_

_..._

The search of Barracks 1 was uneventful, and Cohen headed to Barracks 2 with his two men, accompanied by Klink and Schultz.

_Here we go again. Hogan's hangout. I just need to ignore the signs of tunnel activity I found here before._

A swirl of snow and wind ushered Cohen's group into the chilly building and Hogan welcomed them with thinly veiled sarcasm.

"Well, what a pleasant surprise._"_

"I don't think it will be so pleasant for you, Colonel Hogan," said Klink.

Hogan smiled at Cohen. "Well, Major Hochstetter. It's always pleasant to see your smiling face. Did you come on military business, or is this a social call?"

_Ha! The exact words Klink used when I got here. So Hogan was listening in...good._

"What is it at your camp, Klink?" Cohen grumbled. "Everyody thinks that I'm a social butterfly._"_

"Never mind the social amenities, Hogan!" said Klink. "Major Hochstetter is here to inspect the barracks_."_

Hogan gestured with the coffee mug he held in his hand. "Oh, go right ahead. It's humble, but it's home." As Cohen moved into the room he added, "You'll have to excuse the mess, sir. The cleaning woman doesn't come in till Thursday."

Cohen made a slow circuit around the room and noted that one of the prisoners was making a not-too-subtle attempt to hide his hand in his pocket.

_I think this is my cue. Time to play along._

"Why are you hiding the hand?"

"What hand?" asked the prisoner, an English corporal according to his uniform.

"The hand in that pocket."

"What pocket, sir?"

_Reminds me of an old vaudeville act - with me as the straight man._

"THAT POCKET!" Cohen shouted.

'Oh...well, it's very cold in here, sir."

"Why don't you have both hands in the pockets?"

The Englishman looked at his other hand with an air of surprise. "Oh! I forgot I had two hands, sir! Thank you very much..."

Klink, who had been watching the cross-talk act with increasing impatience, pulled the prisoner's hand from his pocket and held it up for Cohen to see.

"Why do you have fresh dirt under the fingernails?" Cohen demanded of the prisoner.

"Sir, have you ever tried to get an appointment for a manicure here? It is murder!"

A young American prisoner pushed his hand in between Cohen and Klink. "Look at my nails! I haven't had a manicure in weeks!"

Klink struck his hand away and then addressed the English prisoner. "Newkirk! Where is the tunnel?"

"Tunnel, sir?" said Newkirk with an air of exaggerated innocence. "What tunnel?"

Meanwhile, the American prisoner made a show of dragging his foot across a heap of dirt on the wooden floor.

Obeying his cue, Cohen pushed Newkirk aside and moved to a sink standing against the wall.

"Why did you kick dirt under the sink?"

"Because cleanliness is next to godliness," said the young American.

"And a clean barracks is a happy barracks," put in Hogan.

"And a happy barracks is a happy prison camp."

"And a happy prison camp is a..."

"SILENCE!" Cohen pushed against the sink and then pulled it away from the wall, revealing a loose board. He gave his Hochstetter sneer to the assembled group and stomped on the board, breaking it and almost sending himself through the floor, twisting his ankle in the process.

"I think I found the tunnel."

Schultz and Klink hurried over to yank Cohen from the hole in the floor.

"Just as I thought!" said Klink. "We have kept our eyes on this barracks for weeks, right, Schultz?"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!_"_

_Yeah, right. Klink is either actively assisting Hogan, looking the other way, or just plain stupid. Unless...maybe he's some kind of mastermind of the underground..._

_Nah._

"I seem to have discovered an escape attempt before it got very far," said Cohen.

_Or a little diversion to distract from what's really going on. Nicely done, Hogan._

"Well, sir, we were planning to let them dig just a little more before we crushed them!" Klink assured Cohen.

"You will have this tunnel filled with cement and severe disciplinary action will be taken," Cohen announced.

"Yes, sir! Yes, Major Hochstetter!" Klink assisted the limping Cohen to the barracks door, which was opened again to the winter storm outside. "Colonel Hogan! You and your men are restricted to the barracks until further notice! I will see you later."

Cohen pulled up his collar against the cold. "We will keep searching for our friends."

He and Klink made their way back to the Kommandantur and warmed their hands over the stove in Klink's office.

_Damn. I feel guilty warming myself while those prisoners are shivering in their drafty barracks. I wish...ah, what's the use of wishing? Just get on with this investigation, placate Schuster, and try my hardest not to find those downed fliers. I think it would be safest if I just seal off Barracks 2 after the phony tunnel is filled in._

"Klink, you will have the prisoners moved from Barracks 2 and into other barracks. We will fill in the tunnel and then Barracks 2 will be verboten to the prisoners until my investigation is finished!"

"Yes, sir. But why?"

_Good question. Because the phony tunnel has raised suspicion and I don't want anyone caught using the real tunnel that I know is in there - unfortunately, Schmidt and Müller are smarter than they look. Hogan will have to come up with some other route._

"Because it is a crime scene! Are you questioning the methods of the Gestapo?"

"No, no, Major Hochstetter!" Klink assured him.

...

Later, Cohen and Klink made their way through the blowing snow to Barracks 4. Cohen noticed that some of the the prisoners from Barracks 2 were outside their new barracks. The storm was still howling, but the men were engaged in building a snowman.

_What the hell?_

"Schultz, why are these prisoners building a snowman?"

Schultz, who was standing guard outside the barracks, replied, "Colonel Hogan requested it, in place of exercises."

Cohen was puzzled. "Snowmen in freezing weather?"

Klink said, "And they wonder why they are losing the war!"

_I'm beginning to wonder why we are winning it._

...

That same afternoon, Klink and Cohen emerged from Klink's office to find an agitated Schultz in the outer office.

"Schultz! What are you doing here?" demanded Klink.

"I have to report, I have to go to the hospital," said Schultz.

"The hospital!" Klink said, disbelieving.

Schultz went on to say he was sure he had pneumonia, and all because he felt cold while the prisoners were perspiring from the heat.

"Herr Major! When I left the prisoner's barracks, they were sitting around with their shirts off, sweating! And with the windows open."

_Well, that sounds a little strange. What kind of activity could they be engaging in to work up that kind of sweat?_ _Oh, hell. I must have forced them to dig a new tunnel._

Cohen turned to Klink and assumed a Gestapo-esque tone of amused disbelief. "Your prisoners have heat in their barracks?"

Klink said hesitantly, "They're smuggling it in, Major Hochstetter?"

"Bah!" Cohen turned to leave the office, with Klink tagging behind.

When they reached Barracks 4, they found the prisoners wrapped in blankets and huddled around the stove, shivering.

"Glad you're here, sir," said Hogan. "We'd like to requisition some gloves - our hands are frozen!"

"Request denied! It was your idea to build a snowman!"

"My hands are frostbitten, sir!" said Newkirk. "And I really haven't been outside."

Cohen looked around at the men. "I thought you were all sitting around perspiring, with the windows open."

"Wh-wh-who said that?" shivered one of the prisoners.

"Schultz!" said Klink.

"He's a sick man, Colonel," Hogan said.

"He said he saw it with his own eyes!" Cohen said.

"Snow blindness."

"Snow blindness?" Klink said blankly.

"Yes, yes, it's like being out in the desert, sir. I mean, after you're out in the snow long enough, you start seeing mirages!"

_Oh, for crying out loud. I know overacting when I see it, and these guys are worse than a freshman class in Method Acting 101. They were sweating, all right, and now they're trying to cover it up. Well, don't worry, guys. Keep doing what you're doing, and I'll look the other way._

"If he continues to act so peculiar, he will be seeing the Russian front, and that will be no mirage!" Cohen turned and swept out of the barracks.

_..._

After this, Cohen decided his pseudo-investigation had gone on long enough and that it was safe to leave Stalag 13 to its eccentric inhabitants. As he prepared to leave, Klink followed him out of the office.

"It was nice seeing you again, Major Hochstetter, but I told you, you would find nothing suspicious here."

"Those fliers must be in another area," said Cohen thoughtfully. "I will not sleep until I find them."

_Actually, tonight I'll sleep like a baby._

"You will find them, Major Hochstetter, if I know my Gestapo," Klink reassured him.

Schultz, who had been trying to get a word in edgewise during this exchange, spoke up. "Herr Kommandant_, _I beg to report something urgent!"

"Not now, Schultz, please," Klink said.

Undaunted, Schultz said, "Herr Kommandant_,_ it has something to do with the prisoners!"

_Oh, brother. Things were going so well. Don't screw it up now, Schultz._

"What?" said Klink.

"I saw a man go inside the snowman!"

_Damn! They dug the tunnel under the snowman! And even Schultz figured it out._

Klink eyed Schultz dubiously. "Schultz, is this another one of your mirages?"

"No, Kommandant, I saw it with my own two eyes!"

"Have you been at the schnapps again?"

Resigning himself to the inevitable, Cohen interrupted. "Just a minute, Klink. Let's have a look at this."

The three trooped over to Barracks 4, where snowman building was still in progress, with Hogan and four of his men gathered around it. Cohen was glad to see that the location of the snowman had changed, however; it was about ten feet away from its original site, which was now an apparently unbroken expanse of packed snow.

He said, "All right, Schultz: now where did the man enter the snowman?"

Hogan leaped to his feet. "Major Hochstetter, I protest! This is _our_ snowman."

Cohen said, "Why are you so concerned, Colonel Hogan?"

"Because we were gonna challenge the guards and the Gestapo to a snowman contest - the winner gets a free trip to London!"

Impatiently, Schultz pointed at the snowman. "Here - here! Coming out right here!"

Cohen closed his eyes briefly, then bent to look at the snowman, pushing some of the snow away. "Ah - there is an opening!"

Klink said sternly, "Colonel Hogan! I demand an explanation!"

Hogan said, "This is the way they make a snowman in Bullfrog, North Dakota."

_So now I'm investigating a snowman. Well, here goes. The things I do for my country!_

Cohen got on his hands and knees and began to crawl inside the snowman. "Klink, I assure you I will find the tunnel. When I do, the punishment will be - AH-H-H!"

It came as no surprise to Cohen that not only was there no tunnel, the snowman promptly caved in on him, burying him in snow. He struggled to his feet, still inside the snowman, with the snowman's top hat perched on his head.

_H-o-o-g-a-a-n!_

Hogan gave that annoying half-smile as he surveyed the snowy Cohen. "You know, Colonel, Major Hochstetter wins the trip to London."

...

The weather was cold but clear as Cohen collected his crew and drove to their new digs in Hammelburg.

_Why me? Is this what it's going to be like for the duration? And we're on the same side! _

_Once, just once, I'd like to leave Stalag 13 with my dignity and sanity intact. But something tells me that just ain't gonna happen._


	7. The dance

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love. As always, when an actual scene from the episode is presented, actual dialogue from the scene is included. Cohen's thoughts, of course, are his own._

A terpsichorean adventure for Major Hochstetter. "Six Lessons from Madame LaGrange", as seen by Cohen.

* * *

It had been a quiet week at Gestapo headquarters in Hammelburg, and Cohen was lounging with his feet up on the desk, eating an apple, when the phone call from Berlin came.

"Major Hochstetter, an important matter has come up." Oberstleutnant Schuster's voice was abrupt.

"Yes, sir?"

"We have a double agent with the underground in Hammelburg who has been collecting information on all the underground operatives in the area. He has compiled a list and will be delivering it to you. You will be meeting him at the KitKat Club in Hammelburg on Friday evening."

Cohen swung his feet to the floor and sat up straight.

_This is very bad. The entire network...the guys at Stalag 13...maybe even Klink? I'm guessing I'm not on the list since he's delivering it to me. But there are so many lives at stake._

"Yes, sir."

"After you receive this document, you will report immediately to me in Berlin."

"Yes, sir."

Cohen hung up the phone and paced the office, counting the minutes, waiting impatiently until he could contact London_._

Things had been going so well, too. True, the rooms allotted to him on the second floor of the Hammelburg Public Library were cramped, but there was a certain coziness about the place. And since the files had been destroyed in the garrison bombing, he and his men didn't really need that much room for the office.

Being five hours from Berlin had its advantages as well. Here in the boondocks Cohen had the sense of being forgotten by Schuster, and he had used the opportunity to assign his men to assist the woefully understaffed Hammelburg police department in pursuing some real live criminals_, _instead of enemies of the state.

But now Schuster had come back to haunt him.

After Müller and Schmidt went off duty, Cohen walked the short distance to his apartment building on a quiet street.

Cohen trudged up the stairs to his flat and let himself in. Manfred was waiting at the door and Cohen fed him before he went to the soundproofed closet that hid the shortwave radio. He fired it up and tuned in to the secret frequency.

"Snow White to Mama Bear. Come in, Mama Bear."

"Mama Bear here, Snow White."

"Reporting serious breach of security Hammelburg area."

"We have already been advised, Snow White, and a plan of action has been determined. I understand delivery of a hot item is to be made to you."

"Yes, sir."

"This is a difficult situation as your cover must stay intact both to your superiors and to the underground. I won't pretend that this will be easy, Snow White. But we all have to make sacrifices in this war."

"Yes, sir."

"You will probably look like an idiot before this is over."

"Won't be the first time, Mama Bear."

"Good man. Now, the problem is with the delivery."

"What's the problem? I get the list, then I destroy the list."

"Negative, Snow White. This man cannot deliver the list to you - your boss expects you to turn it over, and when you don't, that will sign your death warrant with the Gestapo."

"So I give my boss a fake list. Pretend that I've been conned."

"Too risky. No, we can't have you meeting with the man at all. It has been arranged that an underground agent will impersonate you and take receipt of the list."

"How will this agent prove his - my - identity?"

"A famous cabaret singer will vouch for him: Lily Frankel, another member of the underground. She will return to England as soon as the delivery has been made."

_Lily Frankel? Ooh, I love Lily Frankel - she reminds me of Marlene Dietrich! Didn't know she was a member of the underground. And here in little old Hammelburg!_

"But sir, what's my part in this?"

"I don't think you realize how serious this is, with you as the intended recipient of this list, Snow White. We need you to have an unassailable alibi for the time of the delivery."

_I'm afraid to ask..._

"What kind of alibi?"

"You'll be at Stalag 13..."

_Should have known._

"...for the next couple of days, conducting an inspection, as you are planning to house all of these underground members there. While you're there, I want you to follow the lead of the locals. On Friday, it will be made impossible for you to leave the stalag, hence your alibi."

"But..."

"Trust me, Snow White. You don't want to know the details. Remember, maintain your cover at all times, and it now includes one more thing - Major Hochstetter can't dance."

"What?"

"Good luck, Snow White. Over and out."

_..._

The next day, Cohen was at Stalag 13, on a quest to find Klink. He went into Klink's quarters, where Klink and Hogan were discussing Klink's late night dancing with Lily Frankel.

"Klink, have you ordered the prisoners out of Barracks 2?"

_Just another chapter in our unending search of Stalag 13._

"We were just discussing that, Major," said Hogan.

"What were you doing discussing Gestapo orders with a prisoner?" Cohen demanded of Klink.

Klink was indignant. "I was not discussing it with Colonel Hogan at all!"

"Actually, the conversation had just gotten around to Colonel Klink's dancing," said Hogan. He paused, as if struck by a sudden idea. "Do you do the Peabody, Major?"

"The Peabody?"

"Dismissed, Hogan!" Klink said, annoyed.

Hogan said confidentially to Cohen, "Get him to tell you about Lily Frankel."

_Here's my cue._

"What about Lily Frankel?"

Hogan regarded Klink with an air of reproach. "You mean you haven't told Major Hochstetter?"

"Hogan! Dismissed!" Klink snapped, then ruined the effect by adding a plaintive "Please."

As Hogan turned to go, Cohen stopped him. "Hogan, where are you going?"

"I've been dismissed."

"By him, not me!"

_I need more information if I don't want to flub my lines._ _What about Lily Frankel?_

Klink interposed. "Believe me, Major, there's nothing to tell. I've spent a couple of evenings with the lovely, charming and talented Lily Frankel."

"Who happens to be in love with Colonel Klink," said Hogan.

"Hogan, you're going too far. Let's just say that she has a mad crush on me."

"She does?" said Cohen.

"Which is strange, because the rumor is, she goes for Gestapo men," Hogan told Cohen.

_Now we're getting somewhere._

"She does, eh?"

Hogan nodded. "Every year, she sends Himmler a valentine."

"She does?"

"Hogan, please!" Klink was really getting steamed.

_I think it's time I met Lily Frankel._

Cohen said, "Klink, you and I have an engagement tonight with the lovely, charming and talented Lily Frankel. See you at seven, ja_?"_

"At seven," Klink agreed with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

Just before leaving, Cohen gave Klink the Nazi salute. "Heil Lily! Ah...Hitler."

...

Espionage aside, Cohen was excited to meet the lovely, charming and talented Lily Frankel. He had only admired her from afar prior to this, and now he was able to meet her up close and in person.

_I finally get to meet the girl of my dreams...as a Gestapo agent. And a Gestapo agent who can't dance. A guy just can't get a break._

Seated at a small table on the edge of the dance floor of the KitKat Club, Cohen watched Klink tripping the light fantastic with the lovely Lily, who had a long-suffering look on her face.

_I could really show up this poor slob. I was quite the song and dance man when I was an undergraduate. And I made sure all my students learned ballroom dancing as part of their stagecraft course. Wouldn't know it to look at me, of course, but I used to be pretty light on my feet._

Unfortunately, London's instructions had been simple, if incomprehensible to him: Hochstetter can't dance. Cohen felt an unreasoning fury for the smug Klink, who could dance but did it so badly.

_Life is so unfair. Ah, well...a member of the underground and a Gestapo officer...it would never work out anyway._

But the next day at his office in Hammelburg, Cohen was astounded to receive a phone call from the lovely Lily. She wanted to see him! But she wanted to dance with him...she made him promise that he would learn.

_So what is it with the dancing, anyway?_

_..._

Friday morning, as Klink and Cohen left the Kommandantur, Hogan hurried up to them.

"Colonel, may I see you a minute, please?"

Cohen frowned. "Hogan, we are on an inspection tour."

"It will just take a second, Major." Hogan turned to Klink. "May we borrow your phonograph, sir?"

"Why would you want to borrow my phonograph?" Klink was puzzled.

"Klink, how can you discuss this nonsense when we have important work to do?" Cohen demanded.

"Madame LaGrange is giving dance lessons in the barracks," said Hogan. "She needs some music."

"Madame LaGrange?" queried Klink.

_Oh, no. No, no, no. Don't tell me I have to play along with another one of Hogan's crazy schemes...But orders are orders._ _And Hochstetter did promise Lily that he would learn to dance..._

"You have a lady in your barracks?" Cohen asked Hogan.

"Actually, LeBeau was Madame LaGrange before the war. Had a string of dance schools across France."

"Really." Cohen assumed a thoughtful expression.

"You know - walk in, dance out."

"Of course you can have my phonograph," Klink said magnaminously. "Always happy to have others share the joy of dancing." He gave Cohen a condescending smile. "It's a pity you haven't mastered the art, Major."

_One of these days...even if I have to wait until the end of the war...I'm gonna let him have it!_

"After you, Colonel," Hogan said to Klink courteously, and the two set off for the Kommandantur.

Cohen watched them go, and then told a nearby guard, "Arrest Corporal LeBeau in Barracks 2 for interrogation, and bring him to the cooler immediately!"

...

In the cooler, Cohen took the phonograph he had obtained from the ever-helpful Hogan and instructed the guard to wait outside. He opened the door of LeBeau's cell and set the phonograph up on a stool inside.

_I really can't believe I'm doing this._

LeBeau lounged on the cot with his arms folded. "You're wasting your time, Major Hochstetter. You're not going to get anything out of me."

"I have not asked you anything yet."

"All you are going to get is my name, rank, and serial number."

"And a dancing lesson," Cohen told him.

LeBeau sat up straight, outraged. "A dancing lesson!"

"And if you ever tell anyone...I will have you kept in this cooler for a year!"

"Under the Geneva Convention, I don't have to teach you to dance."

_Okay, smart guy. Let's get this show on the road, already._

Cohen pulled out his Luger and pointed it at LeBeau's head. "Take your choice, eh? Waltz, foxtrot, or shot as an escaping prisoner."

LeBeau appeared to consider his options. "Foxtrot."

Cohen smiled. "Wise choice."

LeBeau jumped off the cot and went to the phonograph, picking up a record that sat on it. "We can't dance to this one!"

"Why not?" Cohen growled.

"'It's a Long Way to Tipperary'? It's not only the wrong tempo, it's the wrong war!"

...

And as the dance lesson progressed...

_I'm not sure what this is supposed to achieve, but I figure all I can do is play along. But I'll be damned if I make it easy for LeBeau_.

After having his foot stepped on yet again, LeBeau hopped on one foot. "Ow! ow! ow!"

"I am sorry, LeBeau, I did not mean this," Cohen apologized.

"All right, all right. Let's try it again. This time, you lead."

LeBeau set the record playing again and came back to face Cohen. "Now, you hold this hand, and you put your other hand on my hip."

_Wait a minute...I didn't sign up for this!_

Cohen drew back and stood up very straight. "Must I put my hand on your hip?"

LeBeau glared at him. "If you think I am going to dance cheek-to-cheek with you, you're crazy." He held up his right hand and Cohen reluctantly took it.

"All right."

LeBeau grabbed Cohen's other hand and put it on his hip.

"Now, you start with your left foot...left, right, left, right..."

"How am I doing, LeBeau, eh?" Cohen had the rhythm now and was leading LeBeau in quite a creditable box step, humming along to the music.

"Not too bad!"

As they moved around the cell, Cohen said, "I can hardly wait to see the look on Klink's face when he sees me dancing with Lily."

_At least I think that's what this is all about._

The dance was rudely interrupted when General Burkhalter's voice said coldly, "May I cut in?"

"The next dance will be yours, General..._General!" _Cohen released LeBeau and jumped back as though he had been shot.

Burkhalter yanked open the cell door. "Guard!"

A completely bewildered guard stepped forward. Behind him stood Klink and Hogan, not quite concealing their snickering over the dance lesson.

Burkhalter indicated LeBeau, who was standing with his hands folded primly in front of him. "Release this man from the cooler, and arrest Major Hochstetter."

"On what charge?" demanded Cohen.

"Dancing with a prisoner, Major."

_Oh, crap._

...

Much later, Cohen sat in what had been LeBeau's cell and thought about when he had previously done time in the Stalag 13 cooler. Some things would never change, apparently.

_It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done, I guess. But if ever I have kids, and they ask me, "Daddy, what did you do during the war?" will I have to tell them about this?_


	8. The war's over?

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love. As always, when an actual scene from the episode is presented, actual dialogue from the scene is included. Cohen's thoughts, of course, are his own._

Major Hochstetter has major trouble with some underground leaders and he needs Hogan's help. "War Takes a Holiday", through Cohen's eyes.

Many thanks to jodm and Toby for their kind permission to use their phrase from "Carter, the Colonel, and the Cockatoo".

* * *

Gestapo Headquarters, Hammelburg

Cohen went through some files on his desk while he awaited the return of Schmidt and Müller. They had a very good lead on some thugs suspected of robbing and badly injuring a storekeeper, and Cohen was determined to arrest the perpetrators and put them away. Nothing was more despicable than criminals who took advantage of the chaos of wartime to prey on the innocent, and Cohen was pleased that his men were developing real potential in crime detection.

_Better job prospects for after the war, for sure. I really like the idea of the Gestapo paying for their on-the-job training. _

Cohen's thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of his Berlin superior, who strode into the office attended by several lesser Gestapo staff.

_Holy smoke! I haven't seen Schuster since he had to bail me out of the cooler at Stalag 13. I sort of had the impression he never wanted to see me again, but he looks pretty happy now. Maybe all is forgiven?_

Oberstleutnant Schuster was smiling in triumph. "Hochstetter, you are to be congratulated! I encountered your men downstairs and was pleased to see they have captured a very great prize indeed."

_So they got Krause's little group. But why is Schuster so excited about a few small-time crooks?_

Schuster continued, "To find the four major leaders of the underground meeting here in Hammelburg speaks well of your organization, Major. We in Berlin knew that the meeting was taking place, but to find the ringleaders in your custody already is truly a stroke of good fortune."

_This is a disaster! How on earth did Schmidt and Müller wind up with those four? Doesn't matter...I suppose Schuster would have found them here in Hammelburg regardless. But how can I get them free? I can't notify London with Schuster right here. What can I do? I need time_...

"Sir, a stroke of good fortune indeed, but the risk of the underground attempting a rescue is great. I would like to transport the prisoners to a secure location...temporarily, of course."

Schuster nodded. "A wise course. You have such a location in mind?"

_Sorry, Hogan. But I need your help._

"The most secure place in all of Germany: Stalag 13."

"Very good. Have them transported to the stalag - I will arrange for a heavily armed detail to pick them up there tomorrow and take them to Berlin for interrogation."

...

Cohen followed the truck carrying the four underground leaders, riding in the back of his staff car with Schmidt and Müller in attendance. If possible, they were even more bewildered than Cohen regarding the turn of events, but he discouraged discussion of the situation.

At Stalag 13, he emerged from the car to be met by the ever-effusive Kommandant Klink.

"Major Hochstetter! How very nice of you to drop by."

Cohen cast a glance around the compound. Hogan and his crew were not in sight, but he wanted to impress Klink and the stalag guards with the importance of the prisoners. He turned to Schmidt. "If anyone makes an unnecessary move, shoot to kill."

_It's a good thing I know that Schmidt wouldn't be that stupid._ _But it must be made clear that these are my prisoners - hopefully I can maintain control of the situation until Hogan comes up with some way to get them safely out of here. _

"Shoot to kill! What do you have in the truck - prisoners?" Klink was surprised.

_Even at a time like this, Klink annoys the hell out of me._

"No, dancing girls!" Cohen said impatiently. He raised his voice slightly, seeing Hogan approach. "Of course, prisoners! The most important prisoners you will ever see - every important leader of the underground movement."

Hogan sauntered over and smiled at Cohen. "Well, my congratulations, Major Hochstetter."

Cohen eyed him. "What is this man doing here?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Klink exclaimed. "Major Hochstetter, this is the American prisoner Colonel Hogan. Colonel Hogan, this is the..."

"Klink, did I ask for an introduction?" Cohen growled.

Hogan intervened quickly. "I just thought I'd show the new prisoners around - with your permission, of course."

Cohen said through clenched teeth, "What...is...this...man...doing...here?"

_Oh, I know what Hogan's doing here. He's nosing around the prisoners, just as I'd hoped. The real question is, what am _**I **_doing here? I don't have a clue what to do with these men. Sorry, Hogan. There just wasn't any other way to give these guys a chance of escape._

"Schultz!" said Klink. "Escort Colonel Hogan back to his barracks at once!"

Cohen drew Klink aside but he didn't lower his voice; out of the corner of his eye he could see Hogan still standing within earshot. "A special armed guard is coming to take these prisoners to Berlin. In the meantime, I want you to prepare a maximum security block for them."

"Yes, sir, maximum security - you can depend on me," Klink assured him.

Cohen used his most evil Hochstetter voice. "I am sure it is not necessary to tell you what will happen to YOU should there be an escape, hmm?"

"An escape? From Stalag 13? Ha, that's a good one!" Klink gave a nervous laugh.

"You will be shot."

"That's another good one." Klink wasn't laughing now.

_There. That should keep the prisoners secure until I get back. I must get to the shortwave and notify London of this._

Cohen turned and headed back to his staff car, encountering Hogan, who was still present, looking thoughtfully at the new prisoners.

"WHAT IS THIS MAN DOING HERE!"

"Just leaving," said Hogan with a shrug.

Satisfied that the wheels were already turning in Hogan's head, Cohen got into the car and directed Müller to drive.

Leaving Müller in charge at headquarters, Cohen headed towards his flat a few blocks away.

It was risky going to his apartment in the middle of the day, but Cohen felt he had to take the chance. As he opened the lobby door, the door of his landlady's flat opened, and a black cat sauntered out, licking his chops and waving his tail in the air.

A little old lady followed him out, and spotting Cohen, came up to him with a smile.

"How nice to see you, Major Hochstetter! Your Manfred has been to visit me, you see - he loves my schnitzel!"

"I am sorry, Frau Lindemann," Cohen said. "I don't know how he could have gotten out..."

"Not to worry, liebling. He is always welcome..." Her bright blue eyes surveyed him for a moment. "I would like to enjoy his company for a while longer, ja? Perhaps you need to be somewhere?"

Cohen crouched down by his small friend and scratched his ears. Unaccountably his throat felt tight. The situation today was serious, and he had no idea how it would end. Best to leave Manfred with his kindly landlady. Why she was so kind to a Gestapo officer, Cohen had no idea, but he and Manfred had basked in the warmth of her welcome ever since they had come to Hammelburg.

"Thank you, Frau Lindemann. It would be most kind of you. I hope to be back soon, but..."

"It is no trouble. You will take care, ja?"

Cohen nodded and stroked the cat's silky head. "Goodbye, Manfred."

_I hope to see you soon, buddy. Sorry you can't come along, but you'll be safe here._

He watched as the landlady gathered the cat in her arms and went into her flat, and then he went up the stairs to his own.

Fortunately, he was able to contact London right away.

"Snow White calling Mama Bear. Come in, Mama Bear."

"Mama Bear here, Snow White."

"My men have inadvertently captured four leaders of the underground. Unable to free them as my boss is here in Hammelburg. Have transported the four to Stalag 13. Requesting instructions on how to proceed."

"Can you hold them there?"

"Negative, Mama Bear. A security detail from Berlin will take custody in the morning."

"Return to the camp, Snow White. We will get in touch with our contact there and see if an escape can be engineered. Undoubtedly a plan is in the making right now. Your fullest cooperation will be needed."

"Understood, Mama Bear. Over and out."

On his way back to Stalag 13, Cohen was surprised to see that a checkpoint had been established on the road to the camp. It was manned by Gestapo agents, and a number of vehicles were backed up as the agents surrounded a farm truck and were bayoneting the bags of potatoes in the back. The farmer was waving his arms and protesting, to no avail.

_Schuster's bright idea, no doubt. They must be searching all vehicles coming from the direction of the camp, just in case Stalag 13 has had its first escape._

Cohen's staff car was waved through, however, and he reached Stalag 13 without further incident.

As soon as the car entered the compound, Cohen climbed out and was alarmed at the sight that met his eyes. A truck had been pulled up to the cooler and a line of prisoners was emerging from the cooler, carrying old mattresses out and new ones in.

_Oh, my God. They're smuggling the underground men out in those mattresses. As soon as this truck reaches the checkpoint, those mattresses will be bayoneted, and if the men aren't killed outright, they will be discovered and quite probably shot. It was a good idea, Hogan, but it would be suicide for them and I can't let it happen. You'll have to think of something else._

Cohen strode up to Klink and Hogan, who were apparently supervising the operation.

"What is going on here, Klink? What are these men doing around a restricted area?"

"Please control yourself, we're just doing a little housecleaning," said Klink.

_Housecleaning? Now, how did Hogan con you into doing that?_

"Housecleaning? This is a prison!"

Hogan said brightly, "Major Hochstetter! Back from town so soon?"

Cohen glared at Hogan. "Klink! Isn't this man ever locked up?"

"Careful how you talk to Colonel Klink, sir," Hogan replied. "The Gestapo doesn't frighten him."

"Hogan!" Klink hastened to silence him. He turned to Cohen. "Sir, Colonel Hogan is most cooperative."

"It's the only way to be, sir," said Hogan. "And I'm sure you've got more important things to do, so don't let us hold you up."

_Sorry, Hogan. I'm going to have to intervene now._

"What is this?" Cohen pointed to the tattered old mattress the prisoner Newkirk was carrying out of the cooler.

"This is a mattress, sir," Newkirk said helpfully.

"I know it is a mattress. What are you doing with it?"

"Oh, that's all right," Klink said. "They are just following my orders."

"Oh?" Cohen turned an accusatory eye on the hapless Klink.

"The Red Cross inspector - he would never approve those mattresses," Klink explained.

_True. I've never seen anything so disgusting in my life._

"Why, what is wrong with them?"

"Well, they're old, they're worn." Klink waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the mattresses.

"Probably contaminated," Hogan put in. He gestured to the prisoners to keep loading the truck.

"They look all right to me," said Cohen.

_And that one definitely has an underground leader hidden inside. Sorry, guys, I don't mean to seem ungrateful since I brought the men here to you in the first place, but this won't work._

"Halt!" he said. The prisoner named Kinch paused with his burden, and Cohen ripped open the mattress he was carrying, revealing a man hidden inside.

Cohen shouted to the guards. "The truck!"

When the other underground men were revealed, Cohen confronted Klink, his Luger drawn."This is your idea of housecleaning?"

"Major Hochstetter, I don't understand! Believe me..."

Cohen ignored him. "_Krieger!" _As a guard came forward, Cohen drew a line in the snow with his boot. "From now on, anyone who crosses this line will be shot!_"_

_Damn it. Why do I always have to be the bad guy?_

...

After the confrontation at the cooler, Cohen remained at Stalag 13, anxiously awaiting developments.

_I really don't know how Hogan's going to pull this off. Another balloon ascension? Maybe he'll just blow up the cooler. Nah, somebody might get hurt. I've heard about that tank that drove out of here once...and what about the airplane that took off from right inside the compound?_

Cohen thought he was prepared for just about anything, but when Fräulein Hilda found him and brought him to Klink's office, he found out that he was wrong. Nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to undergo.

Hilda smiled sympathetically at him before she ushered him in and then closed the door. Hogan was already in the office, shaking his head at Klink's enthusiasm.

"The war is over! But I tell you, I heard it with my own ears!" Klink said.

_The war's over? And I'm supposed to pretend I believe this?_

"Impossible! There must be some mistake," said Cohen.

"How could I make a mistake about something like that?" Klink demanded.

"If anybody could make a mistake about something like that, Klink, you are the one."

While this discussion was going on, Cohen noticed Hogan messing with the radio.

_All part of the plan, no doubt._

"It was on the radio!" Klink was adamant. He walked over to the radio and turned it on, but only static emerged. "The High Command announced it, I heard it with my own ears! Fräulein Hilda heard it, too."

"Fräulein Hilda!" Cohen called out.

She opened the door and stepped into the office. "Yes, sir?"

"Did you hear the armistice announcement?" Cohen asked.

"Well, I'm not sure. You see, I was concentrating on something else at the time." She gave Klink a meaningful glance.

_Aha. Hilda's in on it too._

"Dear girl!" Klink was blushing.

Hogan was still shaking his head. He turned off the useless radio. "There must be some way of confirming it."

Cohen recognized his cue. "Well, there's Colonel Baumberg - surely he would know..."

"Call him!" said Klink."Call him!"

"Very well, Klink, but I warn you, if you have me make a fool of myself..."

_What am I saying? I've never yet been to Stalag 13 without making a fool of myself._

"I tell you it's true, sir, it is true!" Klink insisted.

Cohen picked up the phone.

_Well, if I have to, I can pretend to call Baumberg._

"Operator...hallo, operator..."

To his surprise, a voice answered. "Your call, please."

"Ja, this is Major Hochstetter. I want to speak to Colonel Baumberg."

There was a pause, then a guttural voice was heard over the sounds of a party in the background. "Colonel Baumberg's office, Leutnant von Stickler speaking."

_I could swear that's a backstage sound effects guy. He's pretty good, too. I wonder which one of Hogan's men this is?_

"This is Major Hochstetter. Is Colonel Baumberg in?"

"Jawohl, Major, but he may have a little trouble getting to the telephone - the last time I saw him, he was swinging from a chandelier."

Cohen said in an aside to Klink, "Baumberg is swinging from a chandelier."

Klink said, "Well, if the war isn't over, he just cracked up."

Cohen spoke into the phone again. "Hallo...hallo, Baumberg? Hochstetter here...Baumberg, I wonder if you could verify rumors that have..."

"It's all over, Hochstetter!" said the voice on the phone. "Did you hear the news? It's over! Hochstetter, it's wild here, I tell you, wild!"

Cohen allowed doubt to creep into his voice. "I can't believe it. Are you _sure_ the war is over?"

"What is this, some kind of a joke? Sure I'm sure! Don't you think I know when a war is over, dummkopf_?_"

Cohen said apologetically, "Of course I do, it's just that it's so sudden..."

"Look, if it's too sudden for you, Hochstetter, you make believe that the war is on for a couple of days, while I go back to the party!"

"No, no, I heard that the war was over, I just wanted to check with you to make sure..."

"You can take my word for it! The war is definitely over! So long, Hochstetter!"

Cohen hung up the phone and assumed a thoughtful expression. "Well, it's over. It's really over."

"See? I told you so," said Klink.

Hogan gave a derisive laugh. "Yeah, not bad. Not bad, Colonel. Had me fooled for a minute. But that hokey phone call...come on, Hochstetter!"

_Oh, this is just not fair. So I have to be the gullible one who convinces Hogan that the war is over? I have a horrible suspicion about where Hogan is going with this..._

"Hokey phone call?" Cohen said.

"You went one step too far," said Hogan, shaking his head. "Overdone. It's like your German operas."

Cohen sighed inwardly, but gave his token protest anyway. "I heard it from Baumberg himself! Believe me, Hogan, if Baumberg says the war is over, the war is over!"

Klink was exasperated. "Really, Hogan, you're the most stubborn man I've ever met."

"I'm not stubborn, I'm wise to you!" said Hogan. "You release the prisoners, they walk out the gate, the Gestapo is waiting outside with machine guns...shot while escaping! I'm just not buying it, Klink."

Just then Schultz rushed in, wildly excited and waving a newspaper. "Colonel! Colonel, it's over! The war is over!"

Klink snatched the paper from Schultz and handed it to Hogan. "Well, Hogan? What do you say now?"

Hogan took the paper and looked at it. He hesitated. "I don't know what to think."

Curious, Cohen took the paper from Hogan's hand and looked it over. The large print headline read "_Der Krieg Ist Zu Ende". _The rest of the paper seemed quite authentic.

_Very well done. I could almost believe it myself, if it weren't for the ad for "Adolf's Mustache Wax" on page three._

Cohen listened as Hogan then jovially asked Schultz and Klink about their postwar plans. It came as no surprise to Cohen that Klink had been a bookkeeper and Schultz had owned a toy factory in civilian life.

_Nobody asked me what _I'll _be doing after the war._

Finally, Klink said, "Hogan, you're a free man, the war is over, you may go."

"No, if you don't mind, I'll wait. I'm still not sold."

"Do as you wish," said Klink with a smile.

Hogan walked over to Cohen. "Of course, it's really none of my business, Major Hochstetter, but you could help erase the bad image the Gestapo has by releasing your prisoners now. I mean, they _are_ civilians. That is, if the war is really over."

_So that's the plan. So simple...for Hogan. For me, not so much. Schuster will have my head for this one. But if it gets those underground leaders out of here safely, of course it's worth it._

"Hogan, the war is over." Cohen pretended some hesitation, just to unnerve Hogan a bit. "But, I think I'd better wait. The special armed guard is on its way here from Berlin to pick them up."

Klink waved his hand dismissively. "Believe me, Major Hochstetter, those armed guards turned back the moment they heard the news. While you're here waiting for them, they're back in Berlin, dancing in the streets!"

Cohen decided to concede the point. "Well, you may be right."

"And I think Colonel Hogan had a very good suggestion," Klink added. "I don't think it would do any harm for the Gestapo to act a little bit more human."

"Klink!"

Klink leveled a finger at Cohen. "Careful! The war is over!"

_Okay, here we go. The end of my so-called career as a Gestapo officer. Maybe the end of me too. But if this is what it takes, I'll do it._

"You know what?'

"What?" said Hogan.

"I think I will go release my prisoners."

Cohen made his way through the compound to the cooler. Schultz had spread the word, and the area was thronged with prisoners and guards talking excitedly.

_If only it were true. But Hogan's men at least must know this is all a sham._

In the cooler, Cohen explained to the guards about the news and ordered the underground leaders released. The looks of disbelief and joy on the prisoners' faces was a little hard to take, knowing that they would learn the truth all too soon.

_Well, that's Hogan's job - he can break the bad news to them. But at least they're free now._

...

A little while later, Cohen stood on the porch of the Kommandantur with Klink and Hogan, watching the newly freed underground leaders standing around with Hogan's men and some of the guards, drinking and singing. Cohen was starting to feel a little anxious.

"Look at them - I told them they could go, but they're having such a good time, they don't want to leave!"

"No one ever wants to leave Stalag 13!" Klink said happily, oblivious to the sardonic looks both Cohen and Hogan gave him.

_Do something, Hogan._

"Excuse me a moment, I should be sharing this moment with my men." Hogan left the porch and moved off toward the happy group of prisoners.

_Thank goodness - I wonder what his next move is. But I'm glad to see that even with the gates wide open, Hogan's men have the discipline to stay in camp. I would hate to have anyone get hurt when the truth comes out. Although there are a few of his men that I don't see out there..._

A few minutes later, Hogan summoned Cohen.

"Major Hochstetter! Can I see you a minute, please?"

Cohen met him in the middle of the compound, with the underground leaders standing close by.

"Yes?"

"Your prisoners have decided to leave us, but it's a long hike into town. I was wondering if they might borrow your car."

_Borrow my car?_

"Borrow my car!"

"Oh, they'll return it tomorrow, won't you, fellas?"

Hogan took Cohen aside and said in a confidential tone, "These are going to be big men in industry, and who knows, you may need a job!"

"Well, I don't know..." Cohen hesitated.

_I'm sure the checkpoint outside the camp is still operational. Will it be safe for them to go by car? Of course, it's my staff car, and the checkpoint guards waved me through, so it should be all right..._

"Look, I'll tell you what, I'll sign for it," Hogan said persuasively. "If they don't return it, I'll pay for it!"

"Yes, but.."

"What difference does it make? The war is over!"

"Yes, the war is over, but..." Cohen gave in. "Well, all right, take the car." He walked back to the Kommandantur, closely followed by Hogan, as the underground leaders piled into his staff car and wasting no time, drove out the front gate.

It was less than two minutes later, as Klink, Cohen, and Hogan were assembled in Klink's office, that reality crashed in.

Klink had moved to his desk, picking up the wine decanter and saying, "Well, gentlemen, shall we celebrate?" when the office door burst open and an irate Luftwaffe general swept in.

Klink stood at attention and saluted. "Ah, General Busse! This is indeed a great pleasure!"

The general growled, "Speak for yourself, Klink. Now what is this - guards without guns, uniforms unbuttoned, prisoners running wild - you call this discipline?"

_Oh boy. Time to face the music. I knew it was coming...just didn't realize it would happen this soon._

Cohen stepped forward and saluted. "General."

General Busse turned to him, his demeanor changing markedly. "At ease. I heard in Berlin that congratulations are in order - capturing those underground leaders is quite a feather in your cap, eh?"

_Maybe I can bluff my way through this..._

"Thank you, General. Of course it doesn't mean as much now, hmm? Now that the war is over."

General Busse stared at him as though he thought Cohen had lost his mind.

"The what..is what?"

"The war is over." _Uh-oh. Maybe I _can't_ bluff my way through this..._

"The war is over," General Busse repeated.

Klink interjected, "That's right, General. Haven't you heard?"

Busse turned on him. "No! And neither have the Americans - they bombed Berlin just one half hour ago!"

Hogan jumped up from his chair, an expression of puzzled innocence on his face. "You mean the war isn't over?"

"Of course it is not over!"

Hogan said, "Gee, Hochstetter, what a bad break - and after you let those four underground prisoners go. But you made a lot of friends for the Gestapo."

_Thanks a lot, Hogan._

Busse was turning red as he berated Cohen. "You stupid fool, you! You have been tricked!"

He turned to Klink. "And you - you - you - you idiot, you! I will see to it that you are - "

Hogan interrupted. "Sir, I hate to butt in, but all of Colonel Klink's prisoners are still here."

Klink was buoyed by this realization. "That's right, that's right!" He rushed to the window and yanked it open. "Schultz! Close the gates! The war is back on!"

Busse glared at Cohen. "I will deal with you - back in Berlin! Now follow me in your car."

_Ha! I'm not following you anywhere, General._

Cohen stood at attention, clicking his heels. He then reached for the door, preparatory to preceding Busse from the office, and froze, doorknob in hand.

_Damn. There's no escape. I gave my car to the underground guys._

"My car. I...well, sir, my car, uh..."

Hogan stepped in. "Sir, knowing your sense of fair play, you can understand the Major lending his car to the prisoners. I mean, it's miles to town!"

_You're not helping, Hogan._

"You did what!" Busse said to the speechless Cohen. "Get in my car!"

...

As the general's car pulled through the gates of Stalag 13, Cohen was not looking forward to going to Berlin.

_I wonder if it's any worse to be shot for incompetence than to be shot as a spy. My landlady is going to wonder what happened to me...but at least Manfred is safe with her. Take care of yourself, buddy._

The car approached the checkpoint Cohen had driven through earlier. Busse's car was stopped, however, and Cohen noticed that the checkpoint was no longer manned by members of the Gestapo.

Instead, three men in the uniform of Wehrmacht officers came up to the car. The car doors were pulled open unceremoniously and Busse, Cohen, and Busse's driver were ordered out.

"_Hände hoch!"_

As Cohen and the others obeyed, Cohen looked more closely at one of the three. There was something familiar about him...

The leader of the three addressed Busse in an imperious, high pitched voice. "I am Major von Stiehl, personal aide to Field Marshal Keitel of the High Command, General Busse. You are under arrest for arranging the escape of four dangerous prisoners of the Third Reich. We have them safely in our custody and you will stand trial for treason!"

Despite the gravity of the situation, Cohen found himself watching this performance with the air of a connoisseur_._

_That's Sergeant Carter, one of Hogan's men. Almost didn't recognize him with those thick glasses and the mustache. I wondered why I hadn't seen him at Stalag 13 today. He's really very good, although that obnoxious Prussian accent could only have come from observing Klink. But I don't understand what this is all about..._

Von Stiehl's subordinates quickly handcuffed the loudly protesting Busse and stuffed him into a nearby car. Then von Stiehl addressed Cohen and Busse's driver.

"You will go back to Berlin and report this to General Busse's superiors. Heil Hitler!"

Both Cohen and the driver returned the salute, but after the driver got back behind the wheel, Cohen lingered, staring at Sergeant Carter.

"What..."

"Orders of Mama Bear, sir. And, sir...Colonel Hogan says thanks." He gave Cohen a salute and a cheeky grin, and stepped back, waving the car on.

Cohen looked back through the rear window as the car drove off, stunned by the recent developments.

_What the hell! Okay, so I can blame this all on General Busse, who has mysteriously disappeared into the hands of the underground, cleverly disguised as Wehrmacht officers. That will get me off the hook with Schuster. _

_But how did Mama Bear explain me to Hogan and his crew? And what will happen the next time I visit this crazy place?_

_I'm not sure I want to know..._


	9. A sticky wicket

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love. As always, when an actual scene from the episode is presented, actual dialogue from the scene is included. Cohen's thoughts, of course, are his own._

Major Hochstetter has a new headache when Newkirk brings a pretty but treacherous informant into camp. "Sticky Wicket Newkirk", Cohen-style.

* * *

This was one of the most unpleasant parts of the job. Tracking down desperate men through the snow, who might possibly be armed, and who would see black uniforms as the sign of the devil, was a good way to get killed.

On the other hand, Cohen was anxious to expedite the escape of the fleeing POWs, or, if that was not possible, retrieve them with the least amount of trauma to all involved. He had given strict orders that no shots were to be fired unless in self-defense.

Unfortunately, escape for some of the POWs was not possible today. Schmidt's team sounded the alarm first; five prisoners were rounded up without incident. Half an hour later three more were found huddled in a copse of trees; cold, wet, hungry, and defeated.

Cohen's heart was heavy. True, out of the eighteen escaped prisoners ten were still at large, but these eight were now in Gestapo custody. Cohen had a pretty good idea where the ten were, and he could only hope that they, at least, would remain free.

Stalag 13 was not far away, and it was apparent that the POWs were headed there. Cohen knew that sabotage efforts were carried out from the confines of the POW camp, and he knew Hogan and his crew rescued downed fliers; he had gone to considerable trouble to conceal these activites from Gestapo Headquarters. But POWs escaping from one camp to get to another was a new wrinkle to him. Apparently Colonel Hogan was providing a haven to these men, and assisting them to get out of the country.

In the meantime, he had eight recaptured POWs to process safely, and he had better get busy. The eight men were transported to the Hammelburg city jail temporarily so he could give them a cursory interrogation, the better to placate his superiors with a detailed report. Then he would make arrangements for their transfer to another prison camp - not Stalag 6 from which they had just escaped, but to another camp where risk of reprisals would not be as great.

Unfortunately, Müller had rather overzealously questioned one of the POWs before Cohen had a chance to meet with the young man, an obviously frightened and bewildered corporal.

"_Herr Major_, the prisoners were on their way to Stalag 13! What a curious circumstance - what can it mean?" Müller was excited but rather puzzled about the information that had been dropped in his lap.

"Curious, indeed, Hans," Cohen said noncommittally. "And as Stalag 13 is under our jurisdiction, this is classified information: do you understand? I must get specific instructions from Berlin on how to deal with this matter."

Berlin was the least of his worries. He had to get word to Hogan that his operation had been compromised.

...

After seeing the POWs off to their new home at Stalag 4, Cohen made the familiar trip to his home away from home. Alighting from his car in the compound at Stalag 13, he was immediately struck by the air of gloom that pervaded the prisoners milling about the area.

Upon questioning the corporal standing guard at the Kommandantur, he discovered that RAF Corporal Newkirk had escaped, been recaptured, and even now was on his way to Stalag 6, by order of Kommandant Klink.

_What next? Newkirk's one of Hogan's men, and from what I've seen, up to his neck in the goings-on around here. I doubt Hogan can afford to lose him. Before I find Hogan, I'll spend a little time with Klink. If I lean on him enough, I think I can get him to rescind the transfer order._

Klink was in his office, complacently filling out some of the paperwork that always seemed to consume his time. He smilingly confirmed that he had ordered the transfer of the prisoner Corporal Newkirk.

"You transferred him? Klink, who told you to transfer him?" Cohen leaned over Klink's desk menacingly.

"No one, Major Hochstetter." Klink's smile wavered. "It's just at the time, it seemed like a terribly good idea."

Cohen allowed his inner frustration to erupt. "It was a completely idiotic idea - the Gestapo must question this man! What was he doing in Hammelburg in civilian clothes?" He struck the desk with his gloves. "What, Klink!"

_Well, it's not surprising that Newkirk was in town in civilian clothes. I'm sure he's done it before, and I'm equally sure that Klink doesn't have a clue why he was there. Come to think of it, I don't have a clue either, but I don't care what he was doing. I just need to get him back here. What surprises me, though, is that he got caught._

Klink quailed in the face of Cohen's rage. "Well, sir, I think I'll need a little bit more time to think about that."

"I do not want you to think about anything! I just want you to get the prisoner Newkirk back here - AT ONCE!"

"Excellent idea, Major Hochstetter. It'll solve the whole problem." Klink picked up the phone. "Get me Stalag 6 - Colonel Milberger..."

_Good. That was easier than I thought...one less thing on my mind._

The office door was flung open as so often happened, this time precipitating Sergeant Schultz into the room.

"_Herr Kommandant_, I beg to report - "

"Not now, Schultz - Milberger? Klink here. Yes, about that transfer we arranged - a British corporal, Newkirk. I'd like to discuss that with you."

"I beg to report, _Herr Kommandant_, it will not be necessary to talk to Colonel Milberger." Schultz eyed Cohen uneasily.

"Just a moment, Colonel." Klink put his hand over the phone receiver. "Schultz, what is the matter with you? Don't you see that I'm talking on the phone with - Schultz, what are you doing here? You were taking Newkirk to Stalag 6!"

"Entirely correct, sir, I was, but...I didn't get there."

"What!" said Cohen and Klink in unison.

"_Herr Kommandant_, just one mile from here, Newkirk produced a gun - such an enormous gun, you have no idea!"

_Damn it! What'd he have to do that for? If only I had gotten here a little sooner..._

"Klink! Your prisoners walk around with guns?"

"Of course not, Major Hochstetter." Klink hurriedly returned to his phone call. "Milberger, I'll have to call you back."

He hung up the phone and shook his finger at Schultz. "Schultz, just before you left here, you searched him, didn't you? You searched him!"

"I think I can say almost positively that...I believe so." Schultz regarded Klink with a hangdog look on his face.

"Schultz!"

The office door burst open again - this time it was Colonel Hogan.

"Anything wrong, sir?"

"Hogan, get out of here!" Klink waved him away.

Hogan backed out of the office and shut the door.

"I WANT THAT MAN IN HERE!"

_Hogan, you've got some explaining to do! Guess I shouldn't blame him though - he didn't know I was on my way here or that I could get Klink to rescind the transfer order - he probably ordered Newkirk to attempt an escape at the first available opportunity. In the meantime, he needs to know_ _that there's been a breach in security._ _My fault, too, but he'll have to wait for the details._

The door opened and Hogan came in again.

Cohen stepped close to Hogan and looked him in the eye. "Colonel Hogan, we have crossed swords before, and I have had my suspicions about you, but now my feeling is much stronger."

"Glad you finally cleared me, sir." Hogan gave him his usual unconcerned smile.

"Not exactly. Eighteen men have escaped from Stalag 6. Eight of them I have recaptured."

"Excellent work, Major Hochstetter!" Klink said. "But... may I point out to you that here at Stalag 13 we have no such problem..."

Cohen and Hogan both turned to look at Klink in disbelief.

"Never an escape, never so much as...as...until today, sir, but that was an official transfer..." Klink trailed off, realizing what he had just said.

Cohen turned back to Hogan. "Of the eight men I captured, one talked. He claimed that they were all heading for Stalag 13. Would you have any idea why?"

"Bad sense of direction?" Hogan maintained his flippant tone, but Cohen could tell his warning had been heeded. He figured Hogan's quick intellect was already processing the information.

"I do not think so," Cohen said.

"Major Hochstetter, why would escaped prisoners be headed for another prison camp?" Klink was at a loss.

"That is exactly what I intend to find out! I shall surround this camp with a ring of steel! Anyone trying to get out will be caught. Anyone trying to get IN will be caught!"

_I know, Hogan, the "ring of steel' speech is getting old. But I can't resist using it in these situations._ _And this so-called ring of steel will be carefully placed to avoid the tunnel exit in the woods. But you and your guys will need to be careful with those_ _prisoners you're hiding._

"Major Hochstetter, rest assured, you have my complete cooperation," Klink said earnestly.

"I do not want your cooperation! All I want from you is to stop giving guns to prisoners!" Cohen glared at each of the men in the room - Hogan, Schultz, and Klink. "I will deal with all of you - later!"

As he flung the door open, Klink leaped to his feet. "Major Hochstetter, may I point out that..."

"BAH!" Cohen went out, slamming the door behind him.

...

Later that day, at Gestapo headquarters in Hammelburg, Cohen received a most unwelcome phone call from Klink. An informant had presented herself to him with an amazing (to Klink) story of an underground operation at Stalag 13, and would Major Hochstetter please come and deal with the young lady? Cohen growled agreement, and made his way back to the camp in record time.

Cohen sat in Klink's office, frowning, as he looked the young woman Gretel over. Pretty, and arrogant - obviously a product of the Hitler Youth movement. He sighed inwardly.

_The brainwashing of an entire generation. I don't like the look in her eye - she looks like she really believes she's part of the master race._

Klink and Schultz were also present, standing near the desk where he was sitting. Two of Cohen's men stood by the door.

_Bad enough Newkirk escaped from Schultz right after leaving here. Bad enough that he actually went back to Hammelburg to find this girl. Bad enough that he actually took her through the tunnels. But to have her turn out to be an informant..._

Cohen was disturbed by the amount of detail the woman was providing. The downed fliers, the tunnels, the bunk entrance, plans for a paratrooper attack - that last part sounded a little unlikely, but still...

_The only good thing is that she was stupid enough to reveal herself before leaving the barracks. That'll give the guys time to cover things up...I hope._

"Major Hochstetter, may I assure you that everything this woman has reported is impossible, completely impossible." Klink was indignant.

"Are you calling a Gestapo informant a liar?"

Klink backed down. "Why would I do a thing like that?"

"Because your head is in the noose, Klink." Cohen drew out the words melodramatically. "You have been running a country home for prairie dogs! They dig while you sleep! Wake up, Klink! Enjoy the little time you have left."

"Major Hochstetter!...I can certainly try."

"With a tunnel entrance right in his own barracks, I would certainly think, Major, that this fat one over here would have some knowledge," Gretel said, with a contemptuous jerk of her head toward Schultz.

"Ordinarily it is true, _Herr Major_, but I have signed certificates from all of my teachers that I am...ah..." Schultz trailed off.

_She's probably right about that. No wonder Schultz looks so guilty._

Cohen approached him menacingly. "Whatever you know, I will get it out of you...later." He turned to one of his men by the door. "I want men to go with me to that barracks with picks, crowbars, shovels, and guns..._schnell!"_

"Immediately, _Herr Major!_"

"And now, Klink..." Cohen was interrupted by an explosion that shook the room and brought down plaster from the ceiling. "What was that?"

_Sounds like a tunnel being filled in by a well-timed explosion. Should be safe to go investigating Barracks 2 shortly. Hogan should have everything under control by then._

Klink's reply was muffled by the fact that he was hiding under his desk. "The airborne attack - it has begun!"

Cohen threw open the office window and looked out. Closing it again, he turned to Klink, who was still huddled on the floor. "It is nothing, Klink!"

"Nothing?" Klink quavered.

"I thought you didn't believe our informant."

Klink got to his feet. "Major Hochstetter, I was merely indicating to you that sometimes these things are difficult to accept!"

"You said impossible," Gretel snapped.

"The difficult, I believe immediately - the impossible sometimes takes a little longer." Noticing Schultz still hiding under the desk, Klink hurried over to it. "Schultz, would you get up? It's disgraceful!"

...

_There's only one way to handle this. Pretend to investigate the barracks, and somehow discredit this witness._

Cohen had Gretel, Klink, Schultz, Schmidt, and a couple of maintenance workers accompany him to Barracks 2.

Schultz opened the door. "_Achtung!"_

Cohen swept in with his entourage, and immediately addressed Hogan.

"Aha, the end of the trail, Colonel Hogan."

"How is that again, Major?"

"We have come to take a look at your downstairs apartment. You will show us the way?" Cohen said with his best Hochstetter sneer.

"You've been listening to rumors again." Hogan was perfectly calm, and Cohen felt quite certain that the tunnel entrance from this barracks had been concealed.

"Something a little more substantial," said Cohen. He turned to Gretel. "Open the secret passage, my dear."

Gretel smiled triumphantly. "Of course, Major Hochstetter. Right this way."

She led Cohen directly to the bunk he had identified as a secret tunnel entrance on a previous visit to Barracks 2. A quick glance reassured him that the bunk was a different one than had been there before.

"I saw them activate it from a hidden panel on this bunk." She pressed the side board on the top bunk.

Leaving Gretel to her futile attempt at activating a hidden mechanism, Cohen said, "Colonel Hogan, that you were able to operate for so long is a tribute to the stupidity of your beloved Kommandant - or is it complicity, Klink?"

_You know, I'm still wondering about that._

"No indeed, Major - stupidity," Klink assured him.

"That's entirely correct, _Herr Major_," Schultz said.

Cohen turned back to the obviously flustered Gretel. "Well?"

She frantically prodded, pushed and pulled at the bunk. "I - I was sure it was right here, Major!"

"Are you sure this is the bunk that lifts up?" Cohen allowed a hint of doubt to creep into his voice.

"Yes!"

_Time to discredit her completely. And it looks like Hogan and his gang have thoroughly covered their tracks._

Cohen beckoned the two maintenance workers who had come in with them. "Take this bunk out."

After the bunk was pulled away, Cohen stomped on the floor.

_Déjà vu all over again. Seems like I've gone through this tunnel search routine before._

He spoke to the maintenance workers again. "Chop through the floor - use your axes."

Seated at the common room table, Hogan said sardonically, "Better that way - it has the Gestapo touch."

Cohen couldn't keep his mustache from twitching, but he growled "Quiet!" to Hogan. To the workers, he said, "Chop!"

As the workers began chopping away at the floor, a Luftwaffe general quietly entered the barracks and walked up to Schultz.

"What's going on here? Nobody calls attention to a general? What kind of army is this?"

A terrified Schultz stood at attention and gasped, "_Achtung!" _

The workers ceased their chopping and the occupants of the common room came to attention.

"Thank you," said the General. He came further into the room and gave Cohen an evil smile. "And you, Major Hochstetter - the Gestapo is now conducting bunk inspections? Time is heavy on your hands, _ja?"_

Cohen narrowed his eyes. "I do not believe I know you."

_Oh, I know him all right. Sergeant Carter, doing one of his patented German officer impressions. And he does it so well, he scares me._

"It is your business to know me! I am Luftwaffe General von Siedelberg. Ask Klink, he knows me."

Klink who had been staring confusedly at the General all this time, shook his head but said, "Certainly, I know you, General von Siedelberg!"

"I am in charge of security of all Luftwaffe prisoner of war camps," said von Siedelberg. "I have been looking for you, Hochstetter. What are you doing here, besides inspecting bunks?"

"I have uncovered a giant plot in one of your camps, General," said Cohen. "Ten of the escapees from Stalag 6, the other eight of whom I have captured, are down below us in a tunnel. The prisoners here equip them with money, papers, and clothing, and send them out of the country."

Cohen was aware of Gretel standing just behind him. He could sense her smiling with satisfaction as he repeated the charges she had put forth in Klink's office.

_She's pretty smug considering she couldn't show us the entrance. She's probably figuring all this chopping will uncover the tunnel, but it won't. That was a pretty impressive explosion - it'll take the guys a while to dig that out!_

"Is that correct, Klink?" asked von Siedelberg.

"Well, I've been watchfully waiting, sir," replied Klink.

"Good," said von Siedelberg. He nodded to Cohen. "Show us your tunnel."

_And this is where I get to do my patented incompetent idiot impression. And I do it so well, I scare myself._

Cohen looked at the workers who stood, axes in hands. "Well?"

"There is nothing but dirt, _Herr Major_," said one of the workers.

"So? What do you do in dirt, eh? You dig! DIG!"

"_Jawohl_, _Herr Major!_" The workers scrambled to exchange the axes for shovels, and immediately started shoveling the dirt.

Von Siedelberg was amused. "Bunk inspection, and now gardening?"

"We will find the tunnel, do not worry," said Cohen.

"I have stopped worrying." Von Siedelberg gave a short laugh of contempt. "Perhaps you should start."

Cohen turned to Gretel. "The chart - where is the chart showing the parachute drop?"

"It is right here, Major," Gretel said.

"Show me."

While she moved to a bunk against the wall, Cohen shouted at the workers who had paused in their labors. "DIG!"

Gretel turned away from the bunk. "There it is!"

"Aha!" said Cohen.

_Oh, jeez. I wonder what this will be. Pretty sure it won't have anything to do with a parachute drop._

Hogan moved to throw himself in front of the bunk. "Just a minute, Major. To us, this is almost sacred ground."

_More theatrics. We really should take this show on the road._

"Out of the way, Hogan!" Cohen started to pull down the rolled up paper hidden in the bunk. "Well, Klink, how do you explain this, eh?"

The so-called chart turned out to be the exact same poster of Rita Hayworth that Cohen had discovered on a previous search of Barracks 2.

"What is this?" he said, pretending bafflement.

"You do not know, Major?" queried von Siedelberg.

Gretel was distraught. "It was a chart, Major, I am sure!"

"How many things can you be sure of that are not so?" said Cohen coldly.

Von Siedelberg interposed. "I must defend her. The information she has brought on you has been most accurate."

_What?_

"What information?" Cohen demanded.

"Oh...mostly black market, a little extortion...a few more personal matters..."

_Oh, come on! Was that really necessary? Whatever...it's a good reason for me to get Gretel the heck out of here._

Cohen turned to stare accusingly at Gretel.

"No! It isn't true!" she cried.

"I'm defending you," said von Siedelberg to Gretel complacently.

"Does that complete your investigation, Major?" asked Hogan.

Cohen ignored him and grasped Gretel's arm. "You will come with me for intensive questioning." He handed her off to Schmidt. "Take her away."

As she was taken out, von Siedelberg prodded Cohen. "And what of your ten escapees? The trail grows cold while you were here with your gardening and looking at girlie pictures, eh?"

"They will be caught," Cohen growled. Klink hadn't said anything, but the smirk on his face was extremely annoying.

"At least you have confidence," said von Siedelberg. "Klink - "

"Oh, yes, General, I am so glad that the General knows now that these rumors about Stalag 13 are totally unfounded!"

Von Siedelberg said, "Klink, take a lesson from what happened at Stalag 6. Too many prisoners transferred."

"Too many prisoners transferred?" Klink said blankly.

"Hm. Stirred them up. I'm sending their Kommandant to the Russian front."

Alarmed, Klink stammered, "Rest assured, General, that it has always been my policy, and it always will be my policy - no transfers!"

"What about Newkirk?" Hogan demanded.

"Forget it," Klink muttered, conceding the point.

Von Siedelberg fixed Cohen with an icy glare. "I shall keep my eye on you, Major Hochstetter." With that, he, Schultz, and Klink left the barracks.

Cohen walked over to the site of excavation where the workers were still digging, facing Hogan who stood on the other side. "And I will keep my eye on you, Hogan! You have not heard the last of this!"

Right on cue, one of the workers tossed a shovelful of dirt over his shoulder onto Cohen, who started sputtering and spitting out dirt.

"STOP DIGGING!"

...

Cohen sent his men back to Hammelburg that evening, but he remained behind; he had one last thing to do.

He stormed into Barracks 2 to find Hogan and the four men of his staff, including the apparently reinstated Newkirk, gathered around the common room table. Cohen opened the barracks door again slightly and then peered out to make sure the coast was clear. He beckoned to a mystified LeBeau to keep watch, and then took off his cap and sat down at the table, heaving a sigh of relief.

"You guys are gonna be the death of me," he said.

"We do our best," said Hogan, with a smirk.

Carter stared at Cohen. "You're...you're an American!"

"Are you sure?" said Kinch. "Let's ask him a question - Who won the '41 World Series?"

Cohen glared at him. "I'll tell you who won the '41 Series - the damn Yankees did, that's who! We was robbed!"

Kinch nodded sagely. "Ah - a Dodgers fan."

Newkirk said, "Never mind that! Colonel, I know Mama Bear says 'e's a right one, but can we trust 'im? I mean, 'e's so bloomin' evil and all."

LeBeau nodded. "_C'est vrai! _Think of all the times he...he...well, he yelled a lot."

"And he will continue to yell a lot, that's his job," said Hogan. "This is not to go beyond this room, gentlemen. Meet Professor Howard Cohen, from Columbia University."

"_Sacre chats!_ Professor of what?"

Cohen looked around at the men seated at the table, and said a little sheepishly, "Theatre arts."

"Figures," said Kinch.

"Really?" said Carter, with a sudden smile sweeping across his face. "Professor, what did you think of my general?"

"You were really into the part, Sergeant. But I gotta say, it was a little over the top."

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Over the top? This, from a bloke who's always surroundin' this camp with a ring of steel? I keep expectin' you to twirl that ruddy mustache."

"Knock it off, guys," said Hogan. "Professor, the ten fliers we had in the tunnels got away safely. What about the eight you captured?"

Cohen sighed. "I didn't think it was such a great idea to return them to Stalag 6 - security will be tightened there, and there might have been reprisals. I arranged for their transfer to Stalag 4. I understand there hasn't been an escape there recently - maybe they're due for one."

"And the guy who talked?"

"I'm sorry about that. I meant to question them all myself - "

"Like you did with Boucher?" Hogan asked, tilting his head thoughtfully.

"Yeah, something like that," said Cohen. "Interrogating without getting any answers, you know? But Müller was a little overenthusiastic and talked to the kid before I could. My guy wasn't mean to him; the kid was just young and scared, and didn't realize how important it was to keep your operation secret."

LeBeau waved frantically. "Schultz coming!"

All of the men immediately leaped to their feet. Cohen slapped his cap on his head and glared at Hogan, who calmly regarded him with his arms folded and a half-smile on his face.

"I am warning you, Colonel Hogan, that someday I will prove my suspicions of you! I will be watching you - nothing will escape my notice! And you will never know when I will pounce - day or night!" Cohen turned and brushed by a cowering Schultz who held the door open for him.

In the doorway he turned and faced Hogan and his men. "And I promise you...I will be back!"


	10. The missing Kommandant

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't receive any payment for this; it is truly a labor of love_._ As always, when an actual scene from the episode is presented, actual dialogue from the scene is included. Cohen's thoughts, of course, are his own._

Kommandant Klink is taken hostage and Major Hochstetter must investigate! "The Missing Klink" as experienced by Cohen.

* * *

Professor Howard Cohen, known to his colleagues at the Gestapo (and almost everyone else in Germany) as Major Wolfgang Hochstetter, drove through the familiar gates of Stalag 13. He was not in a good mood. He had been summoned by Captain Gruber, Klink's second in command, and things were in an uproar as usual.

_Oh, hell. Here we go again - sometimes I think I'm babysitting this camp. But I can't let anyone else investigate the weird stuff that keeps happening here - they'd all get shot. Klink included._

The staff car pulled to a stop outside the Kommandantur_. _Cohen climbed out of the back seat and nodded to the driver. He mentally shook himself, and, assuming the role of Hochstetter, stomped up the steps to the building, followed by two Gestapo underlings.

Storming into Colonel Klink's office, Cohen fixed the hapless Sergeant Schultz with a steely eye and got right in his face.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU HAVE LOST COLONEL KLINK!"

He could feel himself turning red and feared his eyes were starting to bulge. This was not an act, not this time. What on earth had that nincompoop gotten himself into this time? Cohen had enough to worry about with the imminent execution of the underground leader Hans Wagner, without any anxieties about the safety of Luft Stalag 13 added to his plate. Not to mention those secret plans he was carrying around, the ones London was so eager to get its hands on...

"M-M-Major Hochstetter, sir, I am trying to explain," Schultz's eyes were terrified.

"So explain!" Cohen barked.

Schultz quaveringly explained, with tears in his eyes, how the vicious underground thugs had held him at gunpoint and kidnapped the Kommandant, but he was unable to give Cohen a meaningful description of the kidnappers. He did somehow remember to give him the note demanding Wagner's release in exchange for the return of Colonel Klink, however.

Cohen was stunned by this bit of news. The underground wanted to use Klink as a bargaining chip to save Wagner? General Burkhalter, who was already seated in Klink's office, just rolled his eyes, but Cohen was frantically trying to think of a way to get him to agree to the exchange.

_It would solve all my problems - well, at least two of them._ _But who in their right mind would want Klink back?_ _I'm pretty sure Burkhalter doesn't._

Cohen sighed inwardly as the door to the office burst open and Colonel Robert Hogan, United States Army Air Corps, catapulted in. Somehow Hogan always seemed to know when something was up - and this time was no different.

"Major Hochstetter - I'm glad I caught you before you left!"

_Me too. Maybe you can explain what is going on here._

"I won't be leaving for three days," he told Hogan.

"Yeah," said Hogan. "But you'll probably be too busy then."

"He's busy now," said Burkhalter.

Hogan swung around to face him. "General Burkhalter! What train did you come in on?"

Burkhalter eyed him with disfavor_. "_I didn't come in on any train."

"Colonel Klink thought you were taking the Berlin Express," said Hogan, who seemed somewhat taken aback.

"Just because he's afraid to fly, he thinks everybody else is too." Burkhalter gave a snort of disgust. "That dummkopf let me wait at the airport for two hours!"

"That certainly is annoying, General, but I've got something much more important to discuss right now." Hogan paused. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Of course you are," said Burkhalter acidly. "I have never seen you when you are _not _interrupting."

Hogan looked at him with puppy-dog eyes. "What I have to say will only take a second."

Burkhalter heaved an exasperated sigh. "All right, Hogan. What is it?"

Hogan walked over to Cohen and addressed him. "Well, I understand the underground will release Colonel Klink if the Gestapo frees Hans Wagner. Isn't that what they're demanding?"

_Gotta love these sideways conversations with Hogan. I expect the plan to exchange a hostage for Wagner was his idea to begin with. But why choose Klink, of all people, for a hostage? Oh, I get it. Burkhalter was supposed to have been on the Berlin Express, and should have been in the car during the hold-up. Probably the underground just grabbed who they could._

"Ja, that is what they are demanding. Klink goes free if Wagner goes free."

Hogan grinned. "I certainly call that a fair deal."

_Yeah, right. Just try getting Burkhalter to agree to it._

"Ja, so would I," said Cohen. "If I were on the other side!"

_Face facts, Hogan._

Cohen continued, "Hans Wagner is the brains behind the entire underground operation. He is highly intelligent, courageous, and a leader."

"What about Colonel Klink?" demanded Hogan.

"What about him?" Burkhalter growled.

"Well, he's also a man of outstanding qualities," said Hogan. "Right, Schultz?"

Cohen turned to Schultz. _This should be good._

"Such as?" he asked politely.

"Oh!" said Schultz. "There are so many..."

"Name one."

Schultz pondered this for a bit. "Well, there are not that many..."

Cohen turned back to Hogan. "The execution takes place tomorrow...as scheduled."

_Unless you can come up with something quick, Hogan. Burkhalter's not budging._

"And then Wagner's brother shoots Colonel Klink!" Hogan went back over to where Burkhalter was sitting. "Now, come on, General! Think of how long you've known Colonel Klink. Think of the things you two have been through together!"

"If I do," said Burkhalter, "I'm liable to shoot him myself."

He hauled himself to his feet. "Schultz!"

"Jawohl!" Schultz came to attention.

"Colonel Hogan is leaving," Burkhalter told him.

"Ja?" Schultz shook Hogan's hand. "Goodbye."

"Dummkopf!" Cohen shouted. "Get him out of here! Raus! Raus! Raus!"

Chastened, Schultz escorted Hogan from the office.

_So much for that bright idea - for once Hogan couldn't talk Burkhalter into seeing things his way. Now what? I can't reveal my interest in saving Wagner's life, or that idiot Klink's either, for that matter. The Gestapo doesn't care about such things._

_..._

A short time later, General Burkhalter was preparing to leave.

"Naturally, you will do everything in your power to apprehend the parties responsible for this outrage."

"We will leave no stone unturned," Cohen assured him.

"Well, don't go to all that trouble," Burkhalter muttered.

Fortunately, just as the general was turning to go, the phone rang and Cohen hurried to answer it.

"Klink's private line is ringing...that's odd." He picked up the receiver. "Hallo_?"_

On the phone, a voice speaking English with a cultured accent spoke. The person on the other end apparently thought Klink himself had answered. "Is it safe to talk, Klink?"

Cohen glanced at Burkhalter, who had abandoned his intention of leaving and came closer to the phone. "Ja, it's safe."

_Who on earth is this?_

"Well, we've got another one for you, Nimrod, and it's a big one, old boy. Anyone...ah...wise to you yet?"

"N-o-o..." Cohen gripped the receiver and tried not to show his bewilderment.

_Nimrod? What the hell...!_

"Good show. After this, Nimrod, G2's pulling you out. Now I have a coded message. Listen closely..."

Aware that Burkhalter was leaning over his shoulder, Cohen scribbled down the message. "Ja...ja...ja!_"_

"Memorize it, old boy, and then...eat it!" instructed the voice on the phone.

Cohen hung up the phone, thinking fast. He turned to Burkhalter. "We've got him - we've got him!"

Burkhalter said impatiently, "We've got _who?"_

_Better make this good. If I can make Burkhalter believe Klink is Nimrod, that makes him worth exchanging for Wagner. _

"Nimrod!"

Burkhalter was flabbergasted. "Nimrod? That British agent?"

"Ja, that's right, the most wanted man in Germany, and we've got him!" Cohen paused, and allowed an anguished expression to cross his face. "No, we don't got him, they got him! But we can still get him!"

Utterly exasperated, Burkhalter demanded, "What are you babbling about?"

Improvising quickly, Cohen said, "That phone call - it was a message - oh, excuse me a moment - Mairzy doats, little boy blue." He closed his eyes, repeating the words, and then crammed the notepaper into his mouth and started to chew. With his mouth full, he said to Burkhalter, "I realize this is hard to believe, General, but Klink - "

"HOCHSTETTER!" Burkhalter thundered. "Take that paper out of your mouth."

"I'm sorry, General, but I got so excited - this news has me so excited!" Cohen took the chewed-up paper from his mouth and held it out to Burkhalter. "Here! Read this!"

Burkhalter backed away in revulsion. "You read it to me."

"Well, it's in code. It's some kind of instructions for Nimrod. I'll call headquarters and have them send a cryptologist - "

_Oh, hell, I can't do that!_

"No, wait a minute! _I'm _a cryptologist, I was the top man in my unit - this will be no trick at all!"

_Lies, all lies. But I gotta buy some time..._

The long-suffering Burkhalter sat by while Cohen muttered to himself and scribbled, and the pile of crumpled paper on Klink's desk grew and grew. Finally he got to his feet and waved a paper at Burkhalter. "I got it, I told you - didn't I tell you I could break this code?"

Burkhalter said grimly, "For two hours you have been telling me that."

Cohen said (making it up as he went along), "What they're using here is a variation on the old Pfiesenhoffer cipher - basic vowel substitutes. A becomes E, if followed by P. When preceded by U, then E becomes B, and U becomes E, and sometimes Y...except after C. However..."

Burkhalter interrupted. "Just read the message."

Cohen peered at the paper in his hand. "I...am...foul...glurch...let...in...cragnik!" He handed the paper triumphantly to Burkhalter.

Burkhalter stared at the paper in disbelief. "This is the message? Obviously it is not the code!"

Cohen took the paper back. "Ja, obviously it's not the code. Oh, it's the old double loop method! I will try this, in no time at all..."

Burkhalter rose ponderously. "Why don't you just call headquarters and let them send over an expert? This whole thing doesn't make sense! The idea of Klink being a British agent is ridiculous!"

Cohen sat down at the desk with a thump.

_Come on, guys, I know you're listening in. I'm dying here. Hogan, what is taking you so long? I know damn well you were behind that phone call...Nimrod, my foot. And here I am, like an idiot, making up solutions to a code that doesn't exist._

He tried for a placating tone with Burkhalter. "Ja, I could not believe it myself, but you were here, you heard the phone ring, you saw me write down the message, so you know I'm not crazy!"

"Yes, I heard the phone ring," said Burkhalter. "I heard you say 'Mairzy doats', and I watched you eat a wad of paper."

_Hogan!_

_..._

Just as Burkhalter made Cohen call for an actual cryptologist, RAF Corporal Newkirk breezed in with a broom and wastebasket.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, I was told I had to come and clean up the Kommandant's office."

"Go ahead," said Burkhalter. "You might as well start with the desk." The pile of crumpled paper had assumed monumental proportions.

"All right, sir. He's been keeping you busy, I see, sir!" Newkirk started to stuff some of the crumpled paper into his wastebasket.

Cohen glared at him as he spoke into the phone, "Gestapo Headquarters, please..."

Newkirk pulled one of the pieces of paper from the wastebasket and uncrumpled it. "Oh, my goodness me - the old Wellington cipher!"

"Wellington cipher?" queried Burkhalter as he came forward to look at the paper.

Newkirk glanced up from the paper. "It's the first one they taught us at cryptology, this was. I don't suppose they've used this code for...oh...over a hundred years."

Cohen thankfully hung up the phone at a gesture from Burkhalter.

"We have just been talking about that ourselves," said Burkhalter mendaciously.

"Yes," agreed Cohen, barely able to disguise his relief.

Burkhalter looked at Newkirk. "You know this Wellington cipher?"

Newkirk said, with a touch of modesty, "Well, I'm not an expert like the Major, sir."

"Don't be too sure of that," replied Burkhalter, with a withering glance at Cohen. "Let's see if your translation is the same as his."

"All right, sir. It'd be a bit of a challenge." Newkirk plucked a pencil from the desk and crossed the room to sit down with the paper in hand. "I haven't done this for years. Very simple, though. Now, I make it out to be...secret...plans...hidden...What is this? Looks like a name...Hilda! Secret plans hidden Hilda's desk! Does that sound right to you, sir?"

_You have got to be kidding me! That is the dumbest thing I ever..._

"Sounds perfect!" said Cohen, and he ran for the door to Hilda's office, with Burkhalter on his heels.

...

Much later, in Klink's office...

"That does it," said Cohen. "I have taken all the necessary precautions. In a few minutes, Nimrod will be my prisoner."

Burkhalter sat with the secret plans in his hand. "It just doesn't seem possible - how I could have been so fooled by Klink."

"Ah, Nimrod is a very brilliant man!" Cohen hastened to assure him.

"Yes, but Klink is such a stupid one."

"That is where he was truly brilliant!" said Cohen. "You only though he was stupid."

Burkhalter glared at him. "Everybody thought he was stupid!"

Cohen couldn't disagree with that.

Burkhalter turned over the papers he held. "How do you suppose he got these? I haven't even been shown these plans."

"It's of a new aircraft, isn't it?" asked Cohen.

"Ja," Burkhalter said slowly. "It seems awfully big..."

Sensing some doubt on Burkhalter's part, Cohen threw himself into the performance. Adopting a fussy manner worthy of Klink himself, he looked at his watch. "Anytime now! Now, let us remember to act calmly, General, I do not want him to suspect anything when he walks in. These guards are trigger-happy, and I want Nimrod alive!"

_That idiot Klink should be here soon. I just need Burkhalter to believe Klink's Nimrod until I'm sure Wagner's safe..._

Just then, Hilda walked into the outer office and took off her coat. "He's here," she announced.

"He's here!" Cohen waved wildly at the guards he had assembled in the office. "Hold your fire!"

Accompanied by two Gestapo guards, Klink swept into the outer office. Spotting Cohen and Burkhalter in the doorway of his office, he came forward with his usual effusive manner.

"Oh, General Burkhalter! Oh, oh, Major Hochstetter! Oh, my dear friends. What I have been through!"

"Don't move, or you're a dead man," said Burkhalter.

Klink cringed as two Lugers were pointed at his head. "I don't understand."

Cohen sneered, "Don't you, Nimrod?"

Klink's jaw dropped. "Nimrod?"

"What is your real name?" demanded Cohen.

Klink looked frantically from Cohen to Burkhalter and back again. "My name is Wilhelm Klink. Now, anyone knows that. You all know that...Wilhelm Klink!"

The Lugers were pointed at Klink's head again.

"This is a little joke? Oh, marvelous! After what I've been through, I could use a good laugh." Klink laughed nervously until he saw the unamused expressions on Cohen's and Burkhalter's faces. "No one could use a good laugh?"

_Really, this is tough on poor old Klink. First he gets kidnapped and now he's threatened with the Gestapo. Bad day all around. Could've been worse, though, if Burkhalter hadn't agreed to the exchange._

"Bah! After questioning at headquarters, we will see who laughs last!" Cohen hauled Klink into the office, and left him with four guards all pointing guns at him.

In the outer office Cohen told a puzzled Hilda, "Fräulein Hilda, will you please send for my car?" He turned to Burkhalter. "If ever I saw a guilty man, that is the one!"

Burkhalter shook his head. "He still looks like stupid old Klink to me."

"I think, General, you will be convinced once I have gotten a signed confession!"

_Of course, that's not gonna happen. Now, how do we end this farce?_

As if on cue, Hogan burst into the outer office, giving a yelp of fright as two guards immediately pointed their guns at him. He raised his hands and looked at the guards uneasily.

_Well, what did you expect? You know we've got a dangerous spy in here._

Cohen waved the guards away, and Hogan came further into the office.

"I just want to see the Kommandant a moment," he said.

"The Kommandant will not be seeing anyone for awhile," Cohen told him.

"It'll only take a second," Hogan assured him. "I wanted to ask if he had gotten the plans yet for the Hindenburg. The men are eager to work on the models they got from the Red Cross."

"Hindenburg?" said Burkhalter.

"Models?" said Cohen.

"Oh, there they are." Hogan hurried over to a stack of boxes that had been standing on a cabinet. "That's swell."

Burkhalter looked at him sharply, and then looked at the plans in his hand again.

"Oh, you've got the plans, too? Good." Hogan snatched them from Burkhalter's hand and rushed from the office, calling over his shoulder, "Give my best to Klink!"

A bit bewildered by Hogan's whirlwind visit, Cohen said to Burkhalter, "The plans! You gave him the plans!"

Burkhalter looked as though he were in danger of exploding. "Those plans are for a dirigible! A big bag, filled with hot air, just like you!"

_Look who's talking! And it took you all this time to figure out those plans weren't for an airplane?_

"But the phone call...the code!" Cohen protested.

He was interrupted by Hilda's phone ringing. She answered it, and with a rueful glance at Cohen, handed him the receiver.

"Hallo, Hochstetter here."

On the phone, the cultured British voice spoke again. "Just called to let you know that Hans Wagner arrived safely. I do hope Colonel Klink did too. And, awfully nice doing business with you, Major."

_Gee, thanks, Hogan. You run all the shenanigans and I get all the grief. At least Wagner's okay. And Klink's back. That's good...I think._

Cohen hung up the phone and smiled weakly at the apoplectic Burkhalter.

"How do you volunteer for duty at the Eastern front?"

"No problem," Burkhalter growled. "I'll have you there by tomorrow."

...

Fortunately, General Burkhalter did not carry out his threat to send Major Hochstetter to the Eastern front - at least, not for the moment.

Cohen drove away from Stalag 13 in his usual state of exasperation, but this time, at least, Hogan did not get off totally scot-free. Cohen had decided that since Hogan had used him as a patsy, it was fair enough that Hogan and his men should help him out.

While waiting for Klink's return, Cohen had slipped his own secret plans, the ones that London wanted so badly, into one of the model airplane boxes, grinning evilly as he included a note that was sure to make Hogan just as crazy as Hogan had made him.

_My dear Colonel -_

_Clever the way you got Wagner out of that prison camp. Kindly be just as clever and get these plans out of this one._

_Till we meet again -_

_Nimrod_


	11. Two Nazis?

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love. As always, when an actual scene from the episode is presented, actual dialogue from the scene is included. Cohen's thoughts, of course, are his own._

Major Hochstetter finds out that Mannheim was not what he appeared...Another look at "Two Nazis for the Price of One."

* * *

Gestapo headquarters, Hammelburg

Major Hochstetter had guests today in his office, and distinguished guests at that. Gruppenführer Freitag and Deputy Gruppenführer Mannheim were here with a special assignment for him.

The supremely confident and commanding Freitag was a man in his forties, who probably would have been considered handsome were it not for the coldness of his pale brown eyes - and the fact that he was as bald as Klink.

His associate, despite his high rank, lacked presence. Mannheim was nondescript in a familiar way - he had the kind of pleasant, inoffensive face that reminded you of a childhood friend, or a next door neighbor, or the mailman, or the guy who delivered your groceries. Yet Cohen was sure he had never met the man before.

As for Freitag, Cohen instinctively disliked and distrusted him on sight, and his initial impression was more than justified by the subsequent conversation.

"Major Hochstetter, since you're the local representative of the Gestapo, I'm going to observe protocol and have you conduct the initial interrogation." Freitag casually lit a cigarette and tossed the spent match into an ashtray. "It is imperative that you question Colonel Hogan regarding the bomber group he commanded, the 504th. It has been ordered back to the States and I want to know why. I believe it has something to do with the Manhattan Project."

"The Manhattan Project, sir?" Cohen said, with entirely genuine bewilderment.

"My contact in London with the Allied High Command knows of this scheme, but can't provide me with details." Freitag frowned briefly, then fixed Cohen with an icy stare. "But I know this is very big. You will report back to me as soon as you get the information."

_Oh, great. The Gestapo has a mole in the Allied High Command. And since I don't know who it is, I can't radio London about it._ _At least my interrogation will alert Hogan to the fact there's somebody at Allied Headquarters who's leaking top secret information to the bad guys._

_This Freitag character sounds like a real menace...he's the kind of guy that gives the Gestapo a bad name. No idea what the secret Allied project is, but I do know that he can't be allowed to jeopardize the guys at Stalag 13. I'll do my bit to keep that from happening._

_..._

On the following day, in Klink's office, the Kommandant expostulated with Cohen.

"Actually, Major Hochstetter, I'm not trying to tell the Gestapo how to run their business."

"I should think not." Cohen's tone dripped scorn.

"I was merely suggesting that if you'd told me what you wanted from Colonel Hogan, I might have saved you the trip."

"That is ridiculous!"

Klink immediately backed down. "That is exactly right, and I don't even know why I said it."

"This is not the job for an amateur," Cohen assured him. "Gruppenführer Freitag himself, personally, has ordered me to question Hogan. He is waiting for my report."

_And this interrogation will proceed along the usual lines. I threaten Hogan, he makes jokes, I blow my top, and he walks out. Shouldn't take long._

_And no one else must know about this if Freitag is to be kept from revealing what he knows._ _And what he knows is way too much about Hogan and maybe his operation, not to mention the Manhattan Project...whatever that is._

Klink rose from behind his desk, an expression of anxiety on his face. "Gruppenführer Freitag? Oh, that's top, top level of Gestapo! I - "

A knock at the door interrupted him, and he called, "Come in!"

To the surprise of both men, Colonel Hogan opened the door and entered the office.

_Since when does Hogan knock?_

"You want to see me, Colonel?" He saluted Klink and then looked at Cohen. "Sorry, I didn't know you had company."

"The Gestapo is not company," Cohen informed him.

"Frankly, I never thought much of them myself."

"Hogan!" Klink said, irritated. "You will show a little respect for Major Hochstetter!"

"Just a little, sir?" Hogan's eyes widened in mock surprise.

"I mean, a lot of respect! Please, don't twist my words."

Cohen took pity on him. "I will take over, Klink." He turned to Hogan. "Colonel, I will stand for no nonsense. I want some information from you."

"Gosh, you mean there's something the Gestapo doesn't know?"

"What we don't know, we have ways of finding out," Cohen said with his best menacing tone. "Ways that are not always...pleasant."

Klink interjected quickly, "Don't make trouble for yourself - talk!"

Cohen gave Klink a quelling look. "Klink, will you stay out of this?" He gestured to a chair. "Colonel, sit down, please."

_Here we go. The big question. The stuff that Freitag thinks you know but he doesn't know, and I sure don't know..._

"Tell me, Colonel. What do you know about the Manhattan Project? What is it?"

"Maybe they're selling the island back to the Indians?"

"The 504th bomb group was assigned to the Manhattan project, is that right?"

"Were they?"

"You should know. You commanded the 504th bomb group."

_Pretty sure the only thing Hogan gave them when captured was name, rank, and serial number._ _Hogan's playing it cool, though, even though he must now realize that there has to be a spy in London for me to have this information._

Hogan was all innocence. "Did I?"

"They have been taken out of combat and sent back to the states for special training, correct?"

_And this is definitely top secret information._

"How about that!"

"Those are not answers!" Klink shook his finger at Hogan.

"Klink!" said Cohen. He turned back to Hogan. "Colonel, may I remind you that the Gestapo can be very unfriendly...very unfriendly."

"You know, I've heard that, and I've often wondered - what's a nice guy like you doing in an outfit like that?"

_I often wonder that myself._

"Of course, we could give you the time to think it over," Cohen continued. "In a special cell we have. It's not big enough to stand up in, and it is not big enough to lie down in..."

"Sounds like a hotel room I once had in Cleveland."

_Ah, hell, I don't think I ever intimidated Hogan even before he knew who I was._

"During the day, the temperature is 140 degrees and at night it is below freezing."

"That's the hotel all right." Hogan nodded, as if that settled the matter.

Cohen plowed on regardless. "Then, if you still won't talk, you will be starved, tortured, and then shot. Well, Colonel, what do you say, hmm?"

"What can I say? You've made me homesick for Cleveland."

Cohen went to the office door and wrenched it open. "All right, Colonel, that will be all. For now."

_I've done as Freitag ordered and incidentally given Hogan the information he needs. I wonder what he will do about it._..

Hogan got to his feet and gave Cohen his devil-may-care smile. "I certainly enjoy these impromptu chats. We should do it more often." He sketched Klink a casual salute and left.

Cohen strode to the desk and picked up the telephone. "I must make my report to Gruppenführer Freitag."

Apprehensively, Klink said, "What will you say?"

"That being nice didn't work!"

_So now Freitag will take over. At least Hogan has been warned._

...

Considerably perturbed regarding the interrogation he had just held with Hogan and the implications involved, Cohen opened the lobby door of his apartment building that evening and found his landlady in the hall, as he so often did.

_It's like she has radar that warns her of my approach. Or maybe she just watches out the front window._

Frau Lindemann was smiling, as always, and accompanied by the aroma of apfelstrudel. "Major Hochstetter! So nice for you - a visitor! And such a nice young man, he's been waiting for you..."

From the doorway of her flat a tall young man emerged, eating a piece of strudel. He was dressed in a Gestapo uniform and Cohen immediately recognized him as the subordinate who had accompanied Freitag to his office the day before.

_Only Frau Lindemann would consider a unknown Gestapo officer a nice young man. But then, she likes me too._

Cohen searched his memory for the man's name, and came up with it. "Mannheim? What brings you here?"

Mannheim nodded to Cohen as he finished his strudel. Then he turned to Cohen's landlady. "Thank you very much, Frau Lindemann. I have had a very pleasant chat with you." He gave her a gallant little bow, and the landlady smiled at them both before she retreated to her flat.

She emerged again almost immediately and handed Cohen a piece of strudel, then vanished back to her lair.

Mannheim smiled, and then turned to Cohen. "I need to speak with you. May we adjourn to your flat?"

Cohen nodded as he bit into his piece of strudel.

_Why not? It's obvious he knows where I live._

As he ushered Mannheim into his flat, Cohen half-expected Manfred to be out of sight, but instead the cat was sitting on the hearthrug, regarding both men inscrutably.

Mannheim spotted the cat immediately. "You have a friend!" He held out his hand and Cohen was surprised to see the cat approach him with no sign of suspicion or fear.

_Manfred's never led me wrong yet. But I still wonder what the hell the guy is doing here._

"Please, have a seat. May I offer you some schnapps?"

Mannheim half-smiled. "I am afraid I have never developed the taste for it, although I drink it when I must. Have you any whiskey?"

Cohen was startled into saying, "I have bourbon."

"You Americans have strange tastes...but I will take a glass."

Cohen stared at Mannheim, who was now seated on the sofa and stroking Manfred, who had jumped onto his knee.

He abruptly switched from German to English. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm a British agent, as are you, Snow White."

Seeing that he had shocked his host into speechlessness, Mannheim then proceeded to give Cohen the complicated password required between MI6 agents.

After Cohen responded in kind, Mannheim said,"By the way, you're an American, why MI6?"

Cohen poured out two glasses of bourbon from his secret stash, and handed one to Mannheim. "I've been in Germany for ten years - OSS hadn't been established yet, that's how I ended up with the Brits. You know my code name - may I ask yours?"

Mannheim sipped his bourbon. "Nimrod."

_Oh, my God. He really does exist._

"Why are you here? Do you realize the Nazis have a four million marks reward offered for your capture?"

Mannheim waved a hand dismissively - apparently the reward was old news to him. "You might say Stalag 13 has been a special interest of mine. Before you appeared on the scene, one of my covers was a prison guard there, a Corporal Langenscheidt. Once I was there posing as a counterfeiting expert by the name of Herman Stoffel, setting up shop in the confines of the camp. Another time I was known to Hogan and his men as Oskar Danzig, an underground operative. Now I am acting as aide to Gruppenführer Freitag, but this connection to Stalag 13 is the most serious, and the most dangerous, yet."

Cohen nodded somberly. "Freitag knew about the 504th bomb group, and its connection to the Manhattan Project."

"He knows more." Mannheim's tone was grim. "He knows about Hogan's operation and the tunnels at the stalag. I believe he plans to use that information to get Hogan to talk about the Manhattan Project."

"Hogan will never talk. But exposure of his operation will get him and all of his men shot."

"True, but the potential exposure of the Manhattan Project will be far worse, and will mean the death of many more people. I plan to stop Freitag, and I am requesting your assistance."

Cohen set down his glass. "What can I do?"

"Freitag will be assassinated - tonight. I will be the one carrying out the job, and I want you to arrest me afterwards."

Cohen was struck dumb for a moment.

_Things have sure changed since the days when my MI6 job was just "observe and report." An assassination. I don't consider myself squeamish, but I'm glad it's going to be Mannheim pulling the trigger instead of me._

"Okay, but I don't see..."

"It will be safer and cleaner if there are witnesses, but I don't want anyone hurt in the aftermath," said Mannheim. "I will get the job done, and then surrender to you."

"And afterwards?"

"Afterwards, you will have to deliver me to headquarters in Berlin. I can take it from there. Now, I have established myself as an ambitious assistant to Freitag, but resentful of the treatment I have been receiving from my superior. Not difficult to do, as Freitag is a narcissistic sociopath. And a jerk. The point is, I will be killing him as a personal vengeance, which will divert suspicion from Hogan's operation and from the Manhattan Project."

"What _is _the Manhattan Project, anyway?"

Mannheim just smiled.

"Okay, so I don't need to know. So what else is new?" Cohen sighed. "I don't envy you the task, but I can see it needs to be done."

Mannheim went on to explain the plan. "Freitag has arranged to meet with Hogan in Colonel Klink's office this evening. That is actually officially why I am here - to bring you along with us to Stalag 13. Once he, Hogan, and Klink are in the office, I will burst in with wild accusations of mistreatment, and shoot him. Hogan and Klink will be able to testify to the shooting and my behavior beforehand - this is important, to establish my motive. You will come in after the shooting and take me into custody. Simple."

Cohen nodded, but long experience of the POW camp had taught him that at Stalag 13, nothing was ever simple.

...

The short drive from Hammelburg to Stalag 13 was accomplished in almost complete silence, but Freitag's air of excitement and triumph was almost palpable.

_Strange to think that I'm riding in a car with a man who will soon be dead...better not dwell on that, I guess. I wish I had the opportunity to warn Hogan about this, though._

At Stalag 13, Klink met Cohen, Freitag, and Mannheim on the porch of the Kommandantur.

"Gruppenführer Freitag, it is indeed a great honor to have you here," he began in his usual fussy manner.

Freitag interrupted. "Mannheim, park the car."

Mannheim protested in a whining voice, "Don't you want me to help you interview Colonel Hogan?"

Freitag smiled an unpleasant smile, the smile of a man who enjoys belittling those he considers inferior to himself. "You had better do what you're best at. I believe you were a parking attendant in Munich before the war."

As Mannheim went to the car in a huff, Freitag and Cohen followed Klink into the outer office.

"Would you like to come into my office?" said Klink.

"Yes, but you stay out," Freitag said imperiously. "Major Hochstetter, send a radio message to Berlin and arrange a meeting with Himmler. Say that I will have some very important information for him."

"Yes, sir," said Cohen.

Freitag went into Klink's office and slammed the door shut, leaving Klink outside.

Klink turned to Cohen in indignation. "He can't do this to me - keep me out of my own office?"

"He can't?"

"But I mean he shouldn't. Of course he can..."

"Bah!" said Cohen, turning away.

_I suppose Klink can be an effective witness from the outer office, anyway. That's the important thing._

Cohen almost collided with Hogan as the latter came into the outer office.

"Colonel Hogan, go right in. Gruppenführer Freitag is waiting."

_Boy, I'll be glad when this is over and done with._

Outside, Cohen went down the steps of the porch and encountered Mannheim, who was now as calm and collected as he had been at Cohen's flat. Cohen drew him alongside the building, where they could see Hogan and Klink through the window of the outer office.

Cohen said to Mannheim, "Hogan's about to enter Klink's office...wait! Look - Hogan's reaching into his jacket - I think he's got a gun!"

_I hate it when the supporting players deviate from the script._

"_Scheisse! _Stand back, Wolfgang." In a flash, Mannheim ran to the other window, coolly took aim, and fired twice.

Then he brushed by Cohen, saying, "Give me a minute," and with a bound was on the porch, hard on the heels of Sergeant Schultz.

Cohen followed him, pausing on the porch. He could hear Mannheim's voice raised hysterically, then more shots. As he pulled open the door, there was a final shot.

By this time Freitag's driver and one of the stalag guards had joined Cohen on the porch, and they all piled into the outer office. Cohen had his Luger drawn as he came in, and he surveyed the scene of the crime.

Mannheim was standing in the middle of the room with a lowered weapon, and Schultz, Klink, and Hogan were crouching behind various pieces of furniture.

Cohen pointed his Luger at Mannheim. "What was all the shooting?"

Hogan stood up from behind one of the desks. "Your man Mannheim shot your man Freitag."

_I can't be sure, but that looks like an expression of relief on Hogan's face. It took a lot of guts for him to plan to kill Freitag on his own, but it would've meant the firing squad for Hogan. Good thing Mannheim was here._

Cohen took Mannheim's weapon from his resistless hand. "Take him."

Freitag's driver and the stalag guard took Mannheim by the arms, and Cohen followed them out onto the porch.

He stood watching as Mannheim was bundled into the back of Freitag's staff car. Klink came bustling out onto the porch, saying, "Major Hochstetter, when you make your report out to Berlin, be sure and tell them that I was the one..."

Cohen cut him short and climbed into the back of the staff car, alongside the handcuffed Mannheim. He directed the driver to take them to Gestapo headquarters in Hammelburg.

There was the same silence in the car as there had been on the drive over, but this time it was a sense of relief that was palpable in the car. At least, Cohen's relief was palpable. Mannheim was as unruffled as ever.

At headquarters, Cohen had Freitag's driver stand guard in the outer office while they awaited a security detail from Berlin to take custody of Mannheim.

In the inner office, Cohen released Mannheim's handcuffs and pointed him to a chair. Sitting down behind his desk, Cohen watched as Mannheim rubbed his wrists.

"And now it is my duty to interrogate you before I turn you over to Berlin." He shook his head, remembering. "It got a little sticky there, but I must say you improvised beautifully."

"Yes, not quite as neat and clean as I had planned, but it got the job done."

"Were all the shots necessary?"

Mannheim shrugged. "Part of the hysterical character I was playing - a man who felt he had been wronged, and was bent on vengeance. The last shot...ah, well, I was just having a little fun with Klink. Took the hat right off his head."

Cohen sat forward in his chair. "But what will you do now? How will you - "

"Make my escape? It's best that you don't know anything about it. But rest assured, this is the end of Mannheim. As for Danzig, or even Langenscheidt, well, you might see them again. Or not. In any case, it has been a pleasure working with you, Wolfgang."

"Thanks. I hope I do see you again, whoever you may be at the time."

Mannheim laughed. "I should warn you - Danzig has a history of being a female impersonator before the war."

...

Much later, Cohen watched as the security detail from Berlin escorted Mannheim away.

_Well, there he goes. The great Nimrod. Or Mannheim, or Danzig, or Langenscheidt, or whoever he happens to be at the moment._ _I wonder who he really is..._


	12. A Hochstetter Hanukkah

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love._

* * *

December 10, 1944

The evening was dark and blustery, with blowing snow. The denizens of Hammelburg appeared to have shut themselves in for the night, no doubt carefully rationing the diminishing amounts of fuel available to them. No one was out on the streets tonight, and no wonder.

Cohen walked the few blocks from Gestapo headquarters to his home on a narrow street that intersected Krötengasse. He pulled the collar of his trench coat up and hunched his shoulders against the bitter wind, reflecting that his Gestapo uniform overcoat was much warmer than his plainclothes attire.

_Another German winter. Another year of waiting for an Allied victory. Will it ever be?_

The initial burst of optimism he had felt after hearing the news of the Normandy invasion had long since worn off. The long slog breaking out of the hedgerows of France, the failed plot to assassinate Hitler in July, the Market Garden disaster_, _and the ongoing battle in the Hürtgen Forest had made it clear that the war would not be over this year.

Even worse, although he knew in his gut that a major German offensive was planned for the near future, he feared that the little information he had been able to provide London was not specific enough to be helpful, and the Allied forces would be caught woefully unprepared.

He could only imagine how the guys at Stalag 13 were feeling in the face of the bad war news.

He was in an understandably gloomy mood, therefore, as he pushed open the lobby door of the apartment building, and with difficulty closed it against the wind. Shaking the snow from his coat and boots, he removed his fedora and nodded to his landlady, who had just emerged from her flat.

_"Guten Abend, Frau Lindemann."_

_"Guten Abend, Herr Major."_

Frau Lindemann smiled at him a little uncertainly. "It is so cold out tonight...I was wondering, Major, if you would care to come and share some wine with me?"

Cohen was a little surprised. He met with her almost every day in the hallway, but had never yet been in her home. But the thought of some company this evening was very welcome.

"I would be delighted, _gnädige Frau._"

He followed the elderly lady into a tiny, spotlessly clean room that had a small coal fire burning on the hearth. He looked around the room, noting the shabby furniture, the faded photographs and various knickknacks scattered about.

Then he froze as he spotted a small table.

Nine candles were lined up on it, with only the central candle lit. There was no menorah, but Cohen knew the significance of the candles, and he suddenly realized what day it was.

He turned slowly to face Frau Lindemann, noticing for the first time the lacy scarf covering her white hair. She smiled the uncertain smile again, and for a moment Cohen was transported back in time, two and a half years ago, when a small child had handed him her greatest treasure.

Tonight the same unconditional trust was given to him, and he was humbled.

"Happy Hanukkah, my son," she said, and reached up to embrace him.

He held her close for a moment, fighting tears.

_When was the last time I embraced another human being? When was the last time I was free to be who I really am?_

Cohen released her, absurdly glad that he was not wearing his Gestapo uniform today. "My apologies, Frau Lindemann. I did not realize, until now, what day it was. I have not been...observant for so long."

"Nor have I," she admitted. "My husband, my Friedrich, was a Gentile, and we had no children. I let all the old traditions lapse during our marriage. He died many years ago, but by then, it was not safe to be Jewish in Germany, so I continued to ignore the old ways. But this year, my son, I believe we need to remember them."

He did not ask how she knew he was a Jew. It was not important. Tonight he gave her his trust as well.

He covered his head with his fedora, in lieu of a kippah, as they went to the little table.

Together they lit the candle on the far right of the little grouping, for the first night of Hanukkah, and together they recited the blessings.

_Praised are You,  
Our God, Ruler of the universe,  
Who made us holy through Your commandments  
and commanded us  
to kindle the Hannukah lights__._

_Praised are You,  
Our God, Ruler of the universe,  
Who performed wondrous deeds for our ancestors  
in those ancient days  
at this season._

_Praised are You,  
__Our God, Ruler of the universe,  
Who has given us life  
and sustained us  
and enabled us to reach this season._

They stumbled through them, and forgot some words, but Cohen knew they were the most beautiful blessings he had ever heard.

Afterwards, Frau Lindemann served latkes and wine, and they talked of the old days in Germany, when Cohen had been a small child. He told her a little of his life in America, and of how Manfred had come to live with him.

At last, he rose to his feet to take his leave of his hostess. She accompanied him to the door, and he bent to kiss her on both cheeks.

"Thank you, Frau Lindemann. Tomorrow evening I will be back, and we will light the second candle."

"I will be waiting. And next year, there will be a menorah, and the menorah will be in the window, _ja?"_

"_Ja._ And there will be peace at last."

And for the first time in a long while, he could believe it would come true.


	13. The rocket

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; this is truly a labor of love. As always, when an actual scene from the episode is presented, actual dialogue from the scene is included. Cohen's thoughts, of course, are his own._

Major Hochstetter is part of a plan that might go up in smoke..."The Witness" as Cohen saw it.

* * *

Cohen was relaxing in front of the fire that evening, not wanting to move. Manfred apparently agreed, as he was stretched out on his back on the hearthrug, with all four feet in the air.

But all good things must come to an end, and it was time for Cohen's scheduled contact with London. He went to the soundproofed closet that held the shortwave set, and cranked up the apparatus.

"Snow White calling Mama Bear. Come in, Mama Bear."

"Mama Bear here, Snow White. We've been waiting for your transmission."

"What can I do for you, Mama Bear?"

"The underground has provided us with some sketchy information regarding a top secret weapon that is going to be tested in your general area. No details, but we have the location and we need you to check it out."

"Wilco, Mama Bear."

After receiving the coordinates of the location, Cohen signed off and looked at Manfred.

"Now, how can I explain my nosing around a top secret weapon? I wonder if I can get Schuster to authorize some Gestapo security for this site..."

...

And now we join the episode already in progress...

Cohen and the four Gestapo officers he had borrowed from the Schweinfurt office approached the remote location on foot. A crowd of people were seen milling around the base of a large rocket that looked to be of the V-2 type.

_Guards and officers among them, I see. I will need to be particularly loud and officious to get control of this site - and I need control if I'm going to find out what's going on here._

"You will all stay away from that rocket!" he shouted as he and his team approached the rocket site. "Did you hear me? What is going on there? Back, back, all of you - back!"

A portly Luftwaffe general eyed Cohen askance as he came near.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Major Hochstetter, Herr General, in charge of security here, and you are all much too close to this rocket."

"My dear Major, there is no danger of it firing," said the General.

"Firing?" Cohen said. "Who's worried about firing? I'm worried about spying."

_And I'm worried about firing too, to tell the truth. Being this close to a rocket makes me nervous, and this thing is huge!_

The General puffed up with self-importance. "Are you aware that I am in charge of this project, and that this is the inventor?" He indicated the stocky, bespectacled man standing next to him.

The inventor handed Cohen his identification papers. Cohen glanced at them briefly, and thrust them back at the man.

_So this is Professor Zagoskin._ _What the hell is a Russian scientist doing here designing rockets for the Germans?_

"Bah! Until I clear you, you will at least stop inventing." He pointed to a woman who stood to one side, languidly puffing on a cigarette in a long holder. "Who is that woman?"

"She is my interpreter, Hochstetter!" The General's irritation was obviously growing but Cohen ignored him.

"Oh?" Cohen stalked over to the woman.

At that moment Colonel Klink appeared out of nowhere. "Yes, Major Hochstetter, and I believe a full corporal."

_And what's that supposed to mean? Ye gods. What is that idiot Klink doing here?_

Cohen turned to the General and gave vent to his frustration. "What is this bungler doing here?"

"Responsible for the security of our witness," the General explained, with a touch of hauteur.

Cohen raised his voice a notch. "I am responsible for security here! What witness?"

"Hi there," said a familiar voice.

Cohen turned to see Colonel Hogan standing nearby, flanked by Sergeant Schultz, and wearing that annoying half-smile of his.

_Oh, brother...I should have known. This can't be good._

"What is this man doing here?" Cohen said through clenched teeth.

The General walked up to Cohen, and confronted him nose-to-nose. "Hochstetter, I am in charge of this project, and I am operating under the direct authority of the German General Staff!"

_So what? You don't scare me._

"Traitors, all of them. What is this man doing here?" Cohen gestured toward Hogan.

"I am in charge of security here..." huffed the general.

"WHAT IS THIS MAN DOING HERE?"

The general deflated somewhat. "He is our witness."

_Witness to what? Oh, hell, I'll find out later. Time to take charge._

"Witness!" Cohen walked over to face Hogan. "You have chosen the most dangerous man in all Germany as a witness!" He motioned to his officers, who promptly pointed their weapons at the assembled group. "The Gestapo is taking over!"

Cohen walked back to the general, who now had his burly companion cowering behind him. "I will surround this camp with a ring of steel! Anyone within a hundred yards of this rocket will be shot...and re-shot!"

"Major Hochstetter?" said Hogan. "Pleasure to have you aboard."

_You know, he actually sounds sincere about that. What kind of mess have I landed in this time?_

"BAH!"

...

That evening, behind the scenes...

Cohen found himself in the woods outside Stalag 13, gingerly making his way in the darkness. There were patrols about, no doubt ordered by Captain Gruber in Colonel Klink's absence, and Cohen was glad he had brought his back-up. He needed two sets of eyes and ears tonight to make it safely to the tunnel entrance.

A low, almost inaudible growl in his ear warned him, and Cohen dropped to the ground behind some underbrush. He waited tensely while booted feet stomped through the snow not ten feet away, and didn't move until he was sure they were gone.

A paw batted him on the ear impatiently, and Cohen got to his feet, readjusting the knapsack that carried his extra eyes and ears. Manfred did not particularly care for this mode of transport, but he seemed to understand the necessity on occasions like this.

Eventually Cohen found the stump containing the tunnel entrance, and carefully avoiding the searchlights that swept across the area periodically, lifted the top and went down the ladder, closing the trapdoor behind him.

About ten feet later he was at the bottom of the ladder. He loosened his knapsack, and let the cat out of the bag, so to speak. Manfred shook himself, and stretched, then sniffed the air. He turned his head to look up at Cohen.

"Merow?"

Cohen stood looking around the tunnel. There were crude oil lamps attached to the walls here and there, providing a flickering light, and the smoky smell mingled with the scent of damp earth. It wasn't stuffy, though, and Cohen wondered what kind of ventilation system the prisoners had been able to build.

"Manfred, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore."

He moved forward in the tunnel, coming to a bend, when he was suddenly faced by a dark-haired young man wearing sergeant's stripes...and holding a serious looking gun.

Cohen put his hands in the air. "Look, I can explain..."

"I don't think so, buddy." The sergeant raised his voice slightly. "Baker! We got company."

Another sergeant emerged from the shadows and got a good look at Cohen. "You call this company, Olsen? We got the Gestapo - in the tunnel! Don't you recognize him? It's Hochstetter." Baker looked down and spotted Manfred. "And a cat."

"What the hell!" The first sergeant looked down too, but the gun never wavered. "And it's a black cat!"

Apparently Sergeant Olsen was superstitious.

"What other color would a Gestapo cat be?" asked Baker reasonably.

"Hey, wait a minute. Manfred is not Gestapo. I may be Gestapo, but...oh, hell, just take me to your leader." Cohen was starting to feel a little desperate.

"Good idea," said Olsen. "Baker, better get Kinch."

Kinch arrived in short order, wearing a anxious expression. His eyes widened as he saw Cohen. "Professor! I almost didn't recognize you in civvies. What are you doing here?"

Cohen gave a sigh of relief. "I was ordered by Mama Bear to investigate a secret weapon site. Found a rocket ready to launch, with Colonel Hogan held there as some kind of witness. I came to find out what's going on, and to see if I can help."

"You might be able to, at that," Kinch replied. "Olsen, Baker, this is Professor Cohen, he's one of the good guys, but that's classified, okay? Get on upstairs and cover for us now, I'll fill you in later."

Olsen and Baker exchanged glances, and then both looked at Cohen again. Finally, with one last wary look at Manfred, Olsen put away the gun and the two disappeared into the tunnel.

Kinch gestured to Cohen. "Come on this way, and we'll explain."

Cohen and Manfred followed Kinch down the tunnel, passing several branching tunnels, and finally arriving in a room seemingly filled with Gestapo. Cohen blinked, and then realized the men inside were Carter, Newkirk, and LeBeau, all engaged in donning, sorting, and sewing Gestapo uniforms.

Carter saw Manfred first and swooped down to gather the surprised cat in his arms. "Hi, Professor. Nice cat." He scratched Manfred between the ears and was rewarded with a purr.

"Blimey! Here's a fair go, then," said Newkirk. "How'd you find the tunnel, Professor?"

Cohen looked at him in surprise. "Please. I've investigated you guys for months, remember? How could I help conceal something if I didn't know where it was?"

"Makes sense...I think," Kinch said.

LeBeau regarded Cohen over the uniform he was sewing. "We got a message from my beloved Marya - _le Colonel _wishes for us to meet him at a rocket site not far away, we are to dress as Gestapo, and we are to bring him a uniform as well."

"And I'm bringing some explosives too," said Carter. "Small ones...to cause a diversion."

"And I'm bringing some tools to disable the rocket," said Kinch. "While the guards are diverted."

"I see," said Cohen. "Hogan was there when I took over security of the rocket site today - must be why he wants you dressed as Gestapo. My men are guarding it right now; I think I can make sure that they stay diverted while you guys do your thing. But I don't understand why the Colonel is being forced to be a witness."

Kinch said grimly, "That's the problem. Apparently this rocket is some kind of secret weapon that will end the war, and they want to use the Colonel to verify that it works - and they plan to send him to the States with the bad news, in order to convince the Allies to sue for peace. The Colonel sounded as though he didn't think he would be allowed to return here, when he left."

Carter nodded. "Yeah, he told us all goodbye, and shook our hands, and everything."

Newkirk and LeBeau nodded somberly in agreement.

"Yeah, well, the point is," said Kinch, "The Colonel has, on a few occasions, taken on assignments that might have meant his exposure or death, and he always left contingency orders for us to shut down the operation, just in case."

"And this is one of those occasions," Cohen said.

"Yeah. Our mission tomorrow night is to sabotage the rocket, but we don't know yet if that'll get Colonel Hogan back to us."

...

The following evening, as we return to the episode...

Responding to the sounds of gunfire, Cohen ran towards the rocket site. Unfortunately, Klink and Schultz came with him, and Cohen was a little concerned that Hogan's men might be found out.

At the rocket, two Gestapo men stood guard, rifles at the ready. One of them seemed suspiciously small in stature to Cohen, but he wisely ignored that one and addressed the one who more closely resembled the man he had left stationed here.

"What is the trouble here?" he asked the Gestapo guard, who in the dim light he recognized as Corporal Newkirk. "Where are the other guards?"

"The other guards went to fight," Newkirk replied in a roughened voice.

_Excellent. Now I just need to get to them and make sure they stay occupied...and incidentally get Klink the hell away from here before he realizes who this crew is._

"I will have them shot!" Cohen promised. He patted Newkirk on the arm. "Good work!"

"_Danke," _said Newkirk.

"Come with me, Klink," said Cohen, as he started toward the periphery of the rocket site, where Carter's firecrackers could still be heard.

"To the fighting, Major?" Klink quavered.

"Of course, to the fighting! Where, then?"

"You go ahead, I'll meet you there, I...I...I forgot my helmet!" With that, Klink took off like a shot, sprinting down the road.

"Klink! Klink!" Cohen followed him a short way, then stood watching until he was sure Klink was gone. "Dummkopf!_"_

He then went back to where Newkirk and Schultz were standing. To Schultz he said, "Guard this rocket with your life."

"Jawohl, Herr Major!_"_ Schultz said. As Cohen headed towards the sounds of the firecrackers, he heard him say doubtfully, "With my life?"

_I think I can safely leave Newkirk to handle Schultz._

Cohen found the scattered guards who were wandering in the surrounding woods, unable to find any human beings connected with the sounds of gunfire. He directed them to search a little longer, until all sounds of the firecrackers ceased and he figured it was safe to go back to the rocket site.

Finding the site deserted and apparently unharmed, Cohen left the bewildered guards in charge and left for the house on the property that served as the control center for the rocket.

He entered a long, narrow room crowded with technicians in lab coats, the woman Marya, Hogan, Klink, and General von Rauscher. The time was nearing the midnight launch time, and Cohen moved further into the room, complaining in his irritable Hochstetter voice.

"I do not like this, too many things are happening. An attack that is not an attack...guards deserting their posts!" Cohen looked around the room - the burly inventor was conspicuous by his absence. He glared at Klink, who happened to be the closest person. "And where is Zagoskin?"

"Sleeping," said Marya. "We could not rouse him."

"Well, if anything goes wrong," Cohen said, waving his gloves at her threateningly, "I will find ways of rousing him!"

Von Rauscher came away from one of the machines lining the room. "Quiet! Countdown! Countdown!"

"Exciting, isn't it?" murmured Hogan.

Von Rauscher continued the countdown. "Three...two...one...FIRE!"

They all crowded around the viewing window to watch the rocket launch - Marya, Hogan, Klink, and von Rauscher, with Cohen peering over Hogan's shoulder.

_This is it. I hope Hogan's sabotage did the trick - von Rauscher's been bragging about how this rocket will hit the battleship Duke of York - that's three thousand lives lost if the rocket hasn't been incapacitated..._

It was rather pathetic really. There was a thunderous roar and flames at the base of the rocket, and then the rocket slowly tipped over on its side and exploded in a huge burst of flame.

_They did it! I don't know how they did it, but they did it._

Walking over to confront the stunned von Rauscher, Cohen used this opportunity to really let himself rip. "Bunglers! Traitors! Somebody's going to pay for this! Heads will roll!"

Von Rauscher seemed close to tears. "I don't understand. Every test was perfect."

Cohen turned to Hogan. "Hogan, from the first I suspected you. What do you have to say?"

Hogan looked at him innocently, and shrugged. "Well, back to the old drawing-board."

He had that annoying half-smile on his face again, but Cohen had to admit he was entitled.

...

Later, Cohen conducted a post-mortem in the drawing room of the big old house, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace.

Von Rauscher was huddled in a corner of one of the sofas, holding his head in a gesture of despair. Marya was seated beside him, offering perfunctory condolences. Hogan was seated on Marya's other side, quietly watching Cohen's movements.

Schultz stood beside the fireplace, with a look of total incomprehension on his face. Klink was seated on another sofa, opposite to Hogan, trying to distance himself from the irate Cohen.

"Berlin is calling every minute - 'What happened to the Duke of York?' " Cohen's voice rose with assumed rage. "NOTHING is what happened to the Duke of York!"

"Bad scene, Major," Hogan said sympathetically.

Cohen waved a finger in Hogan's face. "Hogan, I will not go down alone! If my head is to roll, all heads will roll!"

Klink rose with an air of complacency. "Except, Major, I quite clearly had no part in this whole affair, therefore, I..."

Cohen confronted him, drawing a hand across his throat. "ALL heads will roll!"

Klink backed off and sat down again. "All heads will roll. That's quite democratic, sir."

"Poor Putzi," Marya patted the despondent General on top of his bald head. "So handsome, and so unlucky."

Cohen turned on her. "Traitors! All of you! I fully intend..." He broke off what he was saying and looked over at Hogan, who was as placid as ever.

_Okay, Hogan, it's time for you to pull a rabbit out of the hat. The rocket is gone, but how are we going to get you back to Stalag 13?_

"Hogan, why are you so composed?"

"It's obvious, Major...you've already figured how to turn this to your advantage."

_I have?_

"I have?" said Cohen.

"He has?" said Klink.

Hogan heaved himself to his feet. "Of course. The ultimate weapon didn't quite work out, but the Major has a plan to cripple the entire _Russian_ rocket program."

"He has?" said Klink.

"Go on, Hogan," said Cohen.

_I can hardly wait to hear this one._

"You're pulling my leg." Hogan's voice had a tone of disbelief, but there was a twinkle in his eye. "You're not arranging right now for Zagoskin to escape to Russia? Of course you are! He'll do for them what he's done for you." He chuckled. "That's worthy of Himmler himself, Major."

_No, this plan is quintessentially Hogan. But I like it._

"Hogan, I..." he began.

"Major Hochstetter is a genius, Putzi!" exclaimed Marya, nudging von Rauscher. "He's saved us all!"

Cohen allowed himself a smile. "Ja, I believe I have."

_And now I have the upper hand over von Rauscher._

Hogan looked at him with puppy-dog eyes. "Sir, you're still going to send me home, aren't you?"

_Yep, home to Stalag 13, just like you planned._

"Of course not! Take him away, Klink, back to Stalag 13!"

Klink stood with an air of authority. "Schultz, take him away!"

Hogan looked Cohen in the eye. "Cruel, sir...cruel."

_No, I'm just an easily manipulated fall guy, as usual. But it got the job done, and I can live with that._


	14. Not another rocket!

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love. As always, when an actual scene from the episode are presented, actual dialogue from the s_c_ene is included. Cohen's thoughts, of course, are his own._

Major Hochstetter finds out Hogan has finally gone too far..."The Kamikazes are Coming", as only Cohen could experience it.

* * *

Things had been getting a little uncomfortable for Major Hochstetter lately, with his Berlin superior Oberstleutnant Schuster being rather unpleasant about General von Rauscher's rocket failure.

_Like that was my fault. Still, they always have to blame somebody, and I was the idiot who assumed responsibility for the security of the rocket site._

Cohen was seriously considering preparing a contingency plan for getting out of Hammelburg before the Gestapo came after him, when a routine contact with London opened up a whole new can of worms.

"This is Snow White calling Mama Bear. Come in, Mama Bear."

"Mama Bear here, Snow White. We need you to contact Papa Bear in person ASAP."

"Regarding?"

"A new German rocket is being stored at Stalag 13."

_Not another rocket! What is it with the rockets, already?_

"Okay, Mama Bear, understood. Will meet with Papa Bear."

He signed off, in a very uneasy mood. Manfred looked at him inquiringly.

"This war is starting to wear on my nerves, Manfred. Gotta go see what Hogan and his crew are up to this time."

...

An hour later, Cohen climbed down the ladder in the tunnel entrance under the tree stump. He was met at the bottom by Sergeant Baker, who had apparently been waiting for him.

"Glad to see you, Professor. Colonel Hogan is in the radio room."

In the radio room, Hogan came forward to greet Cohen.

"Appreciate your coming, Professor. We seem to have a little trouble with a rocket in camp."

"What kind of trouble, Colonel? Other than the fact it's a gross violation of the Geneva Convention, of course."

"Well, it looks like the Krauts are planning to fire it from here," said Hogan. "We could just destroy it or alter its direction, but it's a new rocket, and London would love to get its hands on it, to study it."

"But how on earth could it possibly get to London?"

"Ah, now, that's the plan. It's radio-controlled, you see. We'll just launch it in that direction, unarmed of course, arrange for it to land in the Thames, and Churchill gets an early birthday present."

Cohen eyed Hogan with some alarm. "You can do that?"

"Why not?" Hogan said brazenly. "We've got the inventor and his two technicians right here in camp. Von Bornemann has already lost the damn thing once. We'll just arrange for him to lose it again, and then we can set it up for special delivery to London."

Cohen sighed. "And how to do you plan to lose a V-3 rocket inside a prison camp? Hide it under Klink's bed?"

"Nah, that would be too obvious. We'll move it from the motor pool to the barracks..."

"They won't search the barracks?"

"By that time we'll have moved it to the recreation hall."

"Don't tell me. When they go to search the recreation hall..."

"We'll have moved it to the bakery."

"And when they search the bakery?"

"We'll have it back in the recreation hall."

"And what will keep them from searching the recreation hall again?"

Hogan gave him a beatific smile. "Why, our friendly neighborhood Gestapo major - who else?"

Cohen groaned. "Let me guess. I take everybody off on some wild-goose chase while you launch the rocket?"

Hogan smirked. "And they say the Gestapo has no imagination."

"I can imagine I will have to be a prize idiot again."

"But you do it so well..."

"Yeah, yeah. Go ahead, exploit my only talent." Cohen thought for a moment, then asked, "How did that rocket end up in camp, anyway?"

Hogan looked a little embarrassed. "Actually, the underground found it, and told us about it. Then Marya showed up..."

"It figures. That woman again."

"You said it. Well, for her own nefarious purposes she wants the rocket in Russian hands, so she blackmailed me into revealing the location of the rocket to the Krauts, and the Krauts hauled it into camp."

Cohen was curious. "If she wants it in Russian hands, how are you going to get her to agree to send it to London?"

"Oh, we'll just flip for it." Hogan showed Cohen an American quarter - unremarkable, except it had heads on both sides.

"Serves her right," said Cohen. He paused thoughtfully. "Well, at least she got it into camp for you. How did she blackmail you, anyway?"

Hogan shrugged. "Same way she always does. Threatens to uncover our whole operation."

"Oh."

_I guess I never really realized what a heavy load Hogan bears here. He's so insouciant in almost every situation, I forget that he has plenty of worries. No need to burden him with mine._

"Well, Colonel, you need a wild-goose chase, you got one. What time do you want me here?"

...

And now we join the episode, already in progress...

True to his word, Cohen was in Colonel Klink's office the next evening, interrogating Dr. von Bornemann about his missing rocket. The mysterious Marya was also present, as well as Klink, Schultz, and a couple of Cohen's men.

Cohen started out mildly, leaning toward a smiling von Bornemann as he lounged casually against Klink's desk.

"So, von Bornemann, the super weapon, eh, the weapon we are counting on to win the war."

"That is correct, Major Hochstetter," replied the unruffled von Bornemann.

Cohen changed his tone abruptly, glaring at the hapless scientist. "AND YOU HAVE LOST IT! HOW?"

"The first time or the second time?" inquired Klink.

Cohen turned on Klink. "What are we dealing with here - a giant rocket or a child's skate key?"

_You know, with incompetence like this, it's a wonder to me the Nazis have held out this long._ _Who knows what would have happened if they actually knew what they were doing?_

"I just want to get it on the record, Major Hochstetter, that the first time I was completely out of the picture," said Klink.

Cohen pounced. "Aha! Then you admit guilt the second time, eh?"

Klink still had a smile pasted to his face. "No, no, no, Major Hochstetter, I am bending every effort to find it."

"Klink, stay out of this, or you will find out about...bending." Cohen made a threatening gesture with one fist toward Klink, and then turned to the scientist with an exasperated sigh. "Von Bornemann, once more, eh? What has been done here about finding it? You _did _look for it?"

"Ja, ja, ja. We have searched every building - the recreation hall, the bakery, the barracks...everywhere."

_Idiots! Serial searching for a moving target! Why the hell didn't they split up and search the whole place at once? Ah, well...I just keep telling myself this is why the Allies are winning the war._

"Well, then, we will just search again." Cohen turned to the Kommandant and added sarcastically, "Unless, Klink, someone carried it out through the main gate."

Klink laughed weakly. "If they did, they certainly did it without my permission."

"KLINK!"

"What did I say?" Klink backed away in confusion.

Right on cue, Colonel Hogan burst into Klink's office.

"Hi! Anybody find our rocket yet?"

"WHAT IS THIS MAN DOING HERE!"

_Amazing how Hogan inspires me just by walking in the room._

"Major Hochstetter!" Hogan greeted Cohen with an effusive manner worthy of Klink. "Just the man we need here."

"Me? Which side is what here?" Cohen's bewilderment was real.

Marya shrugged expressively. "Hogan has defected, Hochstetter."

_Oh, hell. What next? Defected, indeed._

"Then let him un-defect! We have got enough trouble now."

Von Bornemann leapt up from his chair. "I thought every prisoner was confined to barracks, Klink!"

Klink eyed Schultz sternly. "Why aren't you guarding the barracks, Schultz?"

"Well, Herr Kommandant_, _I thought _she _was guarding the barracks." He nodded toward Marya.

Marya just smiled.

There was only one thing to do, Cohen decided.

"EVERYBODY IS UNDER ARREST!"

"Wise precaution, Major," said Hogan. "Security comes first. My information on the rocket can wait." He turned to leave the office.

"Wait!" Cohen said, recognizing his cue. "What information on the rocket?"

Hogan came back into the room with an air of reluctance. "Probably nothing...just earlier this evening I saw some men taking it through the fence."

_There are just no limits to my gullibility, are there? _

Cohen glared at Hogan. "You will take me there now. If this is a trick, heads will roll! Even if this is not a trick, heads will roll!"

"I certainly feel better with you in charge, sir."

Cohen made a sound of disgust and flung the office door open.

The entire entourage trooped out into the compound and into the cold night air. Hogan led them to a section of the fence outside Barracks 12.

"They went through right about here..."

"Nonsense!" Cohen said. "How could they?"

"That's a good question." Hogan put a hand to one of the fence supports, and the entire section of fence fell down.

For a moment the assembled group just stared at the fallen fence. Then...

"After them!" shouted Cohen. "Every available man!"

_Now, this is just stupid. Send out all of my men, leaving the compound unguarded? No one in their right mind would do such a thing...I guess that's why Hogan chose me for the job._

All of the guards, Gestapo and stalag, poured through the gap in the fence, followed by Cohen himself, after he less than politely declined Hogan's assistance with the search.

_Let the wild-goose chase begin._

Cohen pushed his way through the underbrush and between the trees surrounding Stalag 13, and paused where he could get a good view. Noises of men fruitlessly searching the woods nearby reassured him that the guards were all occupied.

It seemed like forever, but it was probably only twenty minutes or so when a roaring was heard, and the rocket could be seen emerging from the roof of the recreation hall and then tearing across the night sky.

_Wow, there she goes. Hope it ends up where Hogan wants it to be._

Cohen rounded up his crew and they all made their way back to Stalag 13. A few minutes later he met with Hogan and Klink in Klink's office. Hogan, as usual, had a glib explanation ready for the whole fiasco, but Cohen had a hard time trying to pretend belief in the ridiculous story.

"Three traitors committed suicide by blasting off in their own rocket?" Cohen said, exasperated. "Nonsense! Who would believe this?"

_Schuster won't, I can tell you that._

"It has the virtue of simplicity, Major," Hogan told him.

"I am not that simple. What happened to the woman? How did three men do all that without any help? And why should they commit suicide when no one even suspected them?"

"Ah, come on, Major - you were getting too close to the truth. They panicked."

Klink shook his head. "Completely unbelievable, Hogan."

_I would have to agree. But...I make it a policy never to agree with Klink._

"Why?" said Cohen, glaring at Klink.

Klink quickly backtracked. "Why not? Excellent work, Major Hochstetter. My congratulations."

"Of course, Berlin will not be happy about losing the V-3," said Cohen.

_And guess who's gonna get blamed for it._

"I know exactly how you feel, Major."

Cohen walked over to Hogan and looked him in the eye. "How could you know how I feel, Hogan?"

"You lost a superweapon, and we lost a recreation hall." Hogan shook his head in mock sorrow.

Cohen shook his finger at Hogan. "Hogan, one of these days you will go too far."

Klink rose and joined the other two men. "Yes, Hogan, too far."

Hogan paused, with a thoughtful look on his face. "You know something? I think you're right."

_And I have the feeling today was the day._

_..._

Sure enough, the first thing Cohen noticed when returning to headquarters in Hammelburg was the phone ringing...ringing as though it had been ringing for a long while.

Grimacing, he picked up the receiver, not surprised to hear Schuster's voice on the line.

"HOCHSTETTER!"


	15. Ende

_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love._

* * *

March 1945

He sat again in the deepening twilight, smoking one of Klink's purloined cigars.

Major Wolfgang Hochstetter, known in a previous life as Professor Howard Cohen, was at a crossroads. There was no doubt now that the Allies would win the war; the only question was when the Third Reich would finally collapse. His usefulness as an MI6 agent was limited in the current situation and, in fact, London had indicated that they would be calling him back to England soon.

A further incentive for leaving Germany lay on the small table beside his chair: a formal summons to report to Gestapo Headquarters in Berlin, no later than next week.

He stroked the silky head of the cat curled up on his lap. "Well, Manfred, it was only a matter of time. How many lost rockets, fruitless investigations, and escaped prisoners were they going to tolerate, anyway? What floors me is that even though the whole regime is crumbling around them, the Gestapo still has time to investigate an obscure officer in a small town. It doesn't matter, I guess. It's time we hit the road, buddy."

It was time for Hochstetter to be gone, but Cohen had unfinished business in Germany. The first step was to contact London and get Mama Bear's blessing for his plan. He set Manfred on the floor and went to the soundproofed closet that housed the shortwave radio.

"Snow White calling Mama Bear. Come in, Mama Bear."

"Mama Bear reading you loud and clear, Snow White."

"Requesting termination of current assignment, Mama Bear."

"It's about time, Snow White. If the Russians don't get you, the Americans will, soon enough. Better burn that uniform."

"Roger that, Mama Bear."

"We have a new assignment available in London, Snow White, after you get some well-deserved leave, of course. We definitely could use a man of your talent and experience; we are looking into postwar issues to be dealt with, you understand."

"I am honored by the offer, sir, but I'm done here. I am more than ready to return Stateside and become a civilian again."

"Well, I am sorry to hear that, Snow White, but I understand completely. Anything we can do to expedite your plans?"

"Sir, I will definitely take that leave, but with your permission, I'd like to spend it in Germany."

"_Germany?"_

Cohen explained his plan briefly, and then paused to listen to the reply from London.

"Snow White, it sounds a bit quixotic, but I wish you the best of luck. But on behalf of the entire department, I just want to say...thanks for a job well done."

Cohen flushed. "Don't mention it, sir."

"And keep in touch. I want to hear the results of your final adventure."

"Yes, sir. Over and out."

He paused a moment, thinking about all the conversations he had had with Mama Bear over the last few years. Sighing, he disabled the shortwave set and made a mental list of all the things he needed to do.

First things first. He and Manfred headed downstairs to his landlady's apartment.

...

Cohen paced back and forth in the confines of the small room, watched by the placid little old lady who sat knitting in the armchair and the black cat stretched out on the back of the sofa.

"Frau Lindemann, I beg you to reconsider..."

"Major, I cannot leave my home yet."

"Why not? I have some connections, I can get a tolerance permit for you in Switzerland..."

She shook her head, and deftly picked up a dropped stitch. "Who would look after you, _liebling?"_

He stopped in his tracks, took a deep breath, and decided to lay it on the line. "That is the point. I cannot stay here any longer. Major Hochstetter has to disappear."

Her brows went up and she paused in her work to study his expression. "Well, that is different, of course. Why did you not tell me? But I have...connections as well. A friend in Switzerland would be happy to sponsor me, and you too."

Cohen stared at her. "Who...?"

"Madame Louise Saint-Jean, of Geneva. I have received several invitations to stay with her, but until now I have declined."

"But why?"

Fräu Lindemann smiled, and said again, "Who would have looked after you, _liebling?" _

Cohen smiled back at her wryly. "Who, indeed? But I have someone else to consider..."

"A young lady, perhaps?" Her bright blue eyes met his with a hint of mischief.

"Well, yes, but not in the way you mean..."

"Of course. But let me propose this. If you and this young lady are relatives of mine, this would help us to cross the border, _ja?"_

"I suppose. We will need the proper papers." His brow furrowed in thought as he considered the possibilities.

"I will contact my friend in Geneva for the proper permits, and you will obtain the necessary papers for us to present at the border, _ja?" _She tapped her cheek thoughtfully. "I think our name shall be Weber - that was my maiden name, you see."

He eyed her with respect bordering on awe. "Weber it is, Frau Lindemann."

She shook her head at him. "And as the good son you are, you must call me _Mutti__."_

...

An hour later, at a shabby building across town, Cohen waited patiently in the hallway while a door opened a tiny crack.

"_Wer ist da?"_

"Major Hochstetter, Fräulein."

The door swung wide and Hilda smiled at him. "Please come in, Major. May I take your hat and coat?"

He relinquished the items and looked around the small, cozy room. The lamps had been lit and the curtains at the window closed against the chilly night.

"Please, sit."

Cohen took a seat on the sofa and Hilda gracefully sat in a chair opposite. Her brows lifted as she silently asked why he was there. Her puzzlement was understandable, as he had never been to her apartment before.

_She probably wonders how I even know where she lives. Or maybe not. The Gestapo has everyone's address._

Cohen cleared his throat. "Fräulein Hilda..."

"Why do you not just call me Hilda, Major_?_"

"Why do you not just call me Wolfgang?" he challenged her.

She lifted her chin. "Well, Wolfgang? Why are you here?"

"Hilda, I am concerned for you."

She surprised him by getting to her feet in an irritated movement. She paced the length of the room before turning to him accusingly. "That is what you told me two years ago, when you fired me from my job."

"I did not fire you..."

"When you forcefully encouraged me to resign."

"It was for your own good."

"You kept saying that, but I did not want to leave Berlin!"

"Fräulein..." At her sharp look, he corrected himself. "Hilda, I knew what you were doing in Berlin."

Her gaze flickered briefly to the Gestapo uniform he wore. "I do not understand what you mean."

Cohen got to his feet too. This was going to be more difficult than he had imagined.

"Hilda, I knew that you were involved in the White Rose movement, and others would soon have found out." He still remembered the fear that had gripped him when he had discovered her activities.

Her head came up and she looked at him with defiance. "I did nothing wrong! A few pamphlets..."

"A few pamphlets, a few words...and Sophie and Hans Scholl were put to death." He held her gaze for a moment, willing her to understand. "I knew what was going to happen to them. I could not let it happen to you."

Hilda dropped back into her chair and covered her face with her hands for a moment. Eventually she lowered them and looked up at Cohen. "So I took the cowardly way out and came to Hammelburg. Did you arrange for my job at Stalag 13 as well?"

_Oh, hell no. Talk about out of the frying pan, into the fire..._

"No! That is the last place I would have chosen." He paused. "Hilda, I am aware that you have been assisting the prisoners there."

Her hostility seemed to evaporate as her eyes lit with laughter suddenly. "Oh, Wolfgang! Is that supposed to frighten me?"

Her words rendered Cohen speechless.

Hilda shook her head. "I worked for you for nearly a year, remember? You were said to be ruthless, obsessed, almost mad. Yet I knew you were none of those things. Since you have been coming to Stalag 13, you appear to be still obsessed, but foolish and easily tricked by Colonel Hogan. Yet I know you are not foolish either. You, Wolfgang Hochstetter, are not what you appear to be."

Cohen sat down on the sofa again, his eyes never leaving her face. "What do you think I am?"

"You may wear a Gestapo uniform, but you are working for the Allies. So we are the same."

_She certainly has a way of putting things in simple terms_. _But it doesn't change anything. I need to know that she's somewhere safe._

He sighed. "Then you will understand when I tell you why I am concerned for you."

Hilda shook her head. "I do not understand. The war cannot last too much longer - the Allies will soon overrun Germany, and Hitler will be gone."

"And there will be chaos you cannot imagine. Already food supplies are short, you know that. I fear that the occupation of Germany, at least at first, will be anything but orderly. We are talking of millions of people; hungry, desperate, and in fear. And what I fear the most is that the Russians will be the first to occupy this region."

"The Russians..."she whispered, her eyes widening.

"I have heard terrible stories of their vengeance, Hilda. I know you have as well. The British and the Americans...I think they will be better, but even the most civilized countries have been known to commit terrible deeds among the vanquished. And no young woman is safe."

"But what do you want me to do?" She raised her hands and dropped them again in a gesture of helplessness.

"I want you to go to Switzerland, at least for a while."

She seemed to withdraw into herself. "I cannot do that..."

Cohen decided to play his trump card. "I need you, Hilda. My landlady, Frau Lindemann, is a frail old woman. I want her to go to safety in Switzerland, but she needs someone to look after her."

Hilda wavered for a moment, but she shook her head. "You do not understand."

"Tell me." His voice was gentle.

Her eyes searched his face for a moment, then she appeared to come to a decision. She called out, "Helga! Please come in here."

A door opened, and a young woman came into the room, fair-haired like Hilda, but pale and frightened looking. She looked at Cohen with some trepidation, noting his uniform.

"Please sit, Helga." After Helga had taken a chair, Hilda went on firmly, "I think maybe Wolfgang will help us. Wolfgang, this is my cousin Helga. She worked as Colonel Klink's secretary before I came to Hammelburg. She, too, helped Colonel Hogan. But she was active in the underground as well, and your predecessor Kommandant Heydrich was on her trail. She went into hiding, and when I moved here, she came to me."

"Helga, you have been hidden here for two years?" Cohen was astounded.

She nodded. "Hilda has been very good to me, but it has been...difficult."

Cohen looked from one girl to the other, thinking rapidly. "That settles it. You are both now my nieces."

Helga was bewildered, but Hilda was amused.

"You are not old enough to be my uncle," she pointed out.

"I feel old enough," said Cohen wryly. "What is more important, I look old enough. Our sponsor in Switzerland will be able to accommodate my family, I'm sure. My mother and my two nieces will accompany me to Geneva; sadly, my older brother Hans and his wife died when you two were but children."

"And who raised us?"

"My mother, your Grossmutter Margrethe."

Hilda nodded. "Frau Lindemann."

"But, Wolfgang..." Helga looked at his uniform again.

Cohen looked down at himself. "_Ja, _Wolfgang Hochstetter has outlived his usefulness, I am afraid. Just as well, I have no wish to be a target for the Allies when they get here."

Helga was even more puzzled. "If you are not Wolfgang Hochstetter, who are you?"

"Sometime soon I will explain it all to both of you. Right now, I am your Onkel Fritz Weber. And you will be Hilda and Helga Weber. We will all need papers, passports..."

"Newkirk," said the two women in unison.

Cohen sighed. "Newkirk."

"You will need photographs." Helga went to rummage in a bureau drawer.

Hilda looked at Cohen critically. "You will need a new photograph, Onkel Fritz, after we alter your appearance."

Helga looked up from the drawer. "_Ja. _The mustache must go."

"What?"

Hilda nodded firmly. "And we will dust your hair a bit...just to make you a little gray, a little more like an uncle might be. And no one will recognize you as Major Hochstetter."

...

Armed with photographs of his new family, Cohen made his way to the tree stump entrance of the tunnel at Stalag 13. He noted that no patrols were in evidence, and even the searchlight seemed to sweep the area less frequently.

_I can only hope this is a symptom of the war winding down._

He made his way through the tunnels, whistling the tune to the Army Air Corps Song to give notice of his approach. Sure enough, Olsen came into view.

"Is that you, Professor? You look different without the mustache." He craned his neck to look around Cohen to see if he was alone.

"Not to worry, Sergeant, I left the cat at home."

"I wasn't worried! Anyway, what brings you here?"

"I need a favor from Corporal Newkirk. Does he happen to be available?"

"Professor, at the moment we're all available. Not much going on in the operation these days." He led Cohen to the radio room, where Kinch and Newkirk were playing a game of gin.

They both looked up.

"Professor! What happened to the mustache?" asked Kinch, stroking his own as if to reassure himself that it was still there.

"Bit of an improvement, if you ask me," opined Newkirk.

"I need papers," Cohen said, not beating around the bush. "A family is seeking asylum in Switzerland."

Kinch whistled. "They're awfully strict with their refugee policy there, Professor. They have to be."

"I know, but tolerance permits are in the process of being obtained. All I need are the necessary papers to get us to the border."

"Us?" said Newkirk. He grinned. "That rocket was the last straw with the boss, and you need to fly the country, eh, mate?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much the situation. Major Hochstetter is about to disappear. And I have three other people to consider - my landlady, Frau Lindemann, Helga Schiller, and Hilda Ackermann."

Kinch stared. "D'you mean _our _Helga and Hilda?"

"Yes."

Newkirk shook his head. "Now that's a relief, it is. How long 'as it been since we've seen 'elga, anyway? We were afraid to ask about 'er, for fear that the Gestapo were on 'er trail...no offense, Professor."

"None taken. She's been in hiding, but I plan to get both girls out of the country, at least until the current situation is resolved."

Kinch nodded slowly. "I understand, and I agree with you. Newkirk, why don't you get started, and I'll let the Colonel know what's up."

"Right you are, Kinch." As Kinch departed, Newkirk took the photos from Cohen and looked them over with a professional eye. "No problem. We'll snap a picture of you, and I can have the 'ole thing for you in a couple of hours."

Cohen breathed a sigh of relief.

_One less problem. Now I just need to go home and destroy all evidence of Hochstetter's existence._

...

After the initial anxiety of getting through the frontier checkpoint, the trip to Geneva was uneventful. The countryside, like that of Germany, was at the ugly sodden grayish-brown time of year when green growing things seem a distant memory.

But here and there a crocus poked its head above ground, as a promise of spring. Cohen took this to be a good omen.

As they entered the city, they could see that signs of armed neutrality were everywhere. Soldiers patrolled the streets and Cohen could see anti-aircraft batteries on some of the roofs. No peace, even in Geneva, it seemed.

_But they did what they had to do to keep their country safe, even though they were surrounded on all sides by the power of the Third Reich. I seem to recall one of their officials describing his country as "a little lifeboat". They've probably feared every minute that it might capsize._

Their car rolled up to a gracious home set back from the street. Cohen rechecked the address to make sure they were at the right place - he hadn't expected anything so grand.

Stealing a look at Frau Lindemann's face, he thought that she seemed a bit surprised as well. From the back seat came the murmuring of the girls' voices.

"But it is so large!"

"I have never been to such a home..."

Cohen parked the car and they all piled out, Helga carrying Manfred, and Cohen assisting Frau Lindemann. She leaned on his arm slightly as they slowly made their way to the imposing front door.

A smiling maid opened the door in response to the bell, and she ushered them into a drawing room, where an elderly lady was seated near the fireplace. She rose to her feet as they came in, and moved forward to greet them.

"Frau Lindemann! It is my pleasure to welcome you and your family to my home. Please, all of you, be seated. Verena, you may bring in the tea."

Cohen sat and listened to the women make small talk as they drank their tea and nibbled on cakes. He was puzzled. He had assumed that Madame Saint-Jean had perhaps been a childhood friend of Frau Lindemann's, but it was apparent now that this was their first meeting.

Then Madame said, "My grandson has told me so much of all of you, but I want to thank you personally, Frau Lindemann, for saving his life." She looked up, her eyes on the doorway. "And here he is now."

As a tall young man walked into the room, there was a confusion of voices as everyone but the two elderly ladies leaped to their feet. And no one was more surprised than Cohen.

_Nimrod?_

"Mannheim!" exclaimed Cohen.

"Corporal Langenscheidt?" said a puzzled Hilda.

"Oskar, my dear..." smiled Frau Lindemann.

"Oh, Karl..." breathed Helga.

Meanwhile, Manfred jumped off Helga's lap and trotted over to the newcomer, rubbing himself against his legs.

The young man stooped to pat Manfred, then straightened and crossed the room to the two elderly ladies.

"Grandmère_, _Frau Lindemann, I am pleased to see you both." He raised Frau Lindemann's hand to his lips and then turned to his grandmother.

Madame Saint-Jean presented her cheek to be kissed. "It is good to see you, Charles, but there appears to be some confusion as to who you are. Would you care to explain to these nice people who have come to stay with me?"

"I would be delighted." He reached out to shake the stunned Cohen's hand, and favored the equally bewildered Hilda and Helga with a gracious bow. Then he accepted the cup of tea his grandmother handed him, and took his seat among the group.

"I'm afraid you each know me as a different person. My friend Wolfgang has only known me as Deputy Gruppenfuhrer Mannheim, Helga and Hilda knew me only as Corporal Karl Langenscheidt, and Frau Lindemann knew me best as Oskar Danzig, although she met Mannheim as well. But my name is Charles Saint-Jean, and I would like to join with my grandmother in welcoming you to our home."

He looked across to Frau Lindemann and smiled. "I owe Frau Lindemann my life. When I was wounded by a Gestapo bullet, my underground friends fetched her to help care for me. I never knew what was in that poultice that managed to stave off the infection until Newkirk came with the penicillin. It did the trick, though, and I was able to return to my work as Oskar Danzig. But little did I know when I sought out Major Hochstetter a few months ago, that I would encounter Frau Lindemann again."

Frau Lindemann smiled back. "And you were wearing a Gestapo uniform and calling yourself Mannheim. But I knew you were still my Oskar, one of my boys."

"One of your boys! How many do you have?" Cohen asked.

"Just two, _liebling_, and you are the other, of course."

Charles Saint-Jean grinned at Cohen. "That makes us brothers, I think, Wolfgang."

"We call him Onkel Fritz," volunteered Helga. "But Karl...I mean, Charles...why did you not tell me, when you left Stalag 13?"

Saint-Jean leaned forward, regret in his voice. "I could not tell you, for your own protection. I knew you were involved in the underground, and Kommandant Heydrich was showing far too much interest in your activities. My role as Corporal Karl Langenscheidt was far too constraining at that point and I planned to set myself up as an underground operative in the area with a different identity."

Hilda nodded slowly. "That accounts for why I only saw you occasionally at Stalag 13, and then eventually not at all. Did you know that Helga was in hiding, and staying with me?"

"Yes, but the last thing I wanted to do was draw attention to the two of you."

Frau Lindemann looked around at the younger people in the room. "But now, at least, you are all here, and safe, and God willing, the war will soon end."

Cohen cleared his throat. He had purposely not let the women know of the second part of his plan, until they were all safely in Switzerland. "I am sorry, _Mutti_, but I will be leaving soon and returning to Germany."

The women all protested, asking questions, but he waved them aside.

Saint-Jean tilted his head, regarding Cohen quizzically. "As Major Hochstetter?"

"Hochstetter no longer exists."

"London has another assignment for you?"

"They offered, but I turned them down. No, I have a much humbler ambition, but I hope to be useful during the last days of the war. I understand that Red Cross packages to the POW camps have been delayed for months due to the war being brought to German soil. I plan to volunteer as a driver, if they will take me."

Madame Saint-Jean had been listening to this exchange with interest, and she now spoke up. "It should not be a problem, Herr Weber. Monsieur Burckhardt is an old acquaintance of mine."

...

And so it proved. Saint-Jean accompanied Cohen to the headquarters of the International Committee of the Red Cross at 19 Avenue de la paix. In a high-ceilinged office they found its president, Jacob Burckhardt, snowed under by reports piled on his desk. He rose politely to greet them, however, and listened to Cohen's request with every evidence of attention.

"It is indeed a tragic circumstance," he said, "that we have all these desperately needed supplies in our warehouses here in Geneva, but limited ability to distribute them due to the exigencies of war in Germany itself. The almost complete destruction of the rail system there is the most important factor. We are trying to get around that by trucking the packages to the various POW camps, and we have received vehicles from the Allies to do this, but it is true that manpower is needed most urgently."

He moved to the tall windows, looking out over the streets of Geneva, and spoke over his shoulder to the two men. "And it is an even more difficult situation now that for some reason, the Germans have decided to evacuate many POW camps and send the prisoners on ill-equipped marches to nowhere."

Cohen said, "I believe I can be of assistance in this situation, Monsieur Burckhardt. I speak English quite well, and I can drive a truck."

_Put myself through college driving trucks in all five boroughs of New York City, as a matter of fact._

Burckhardt regarded him in some amusement. "No need to sell yourself, Herr Weber. As Monsieur Saint-Jean can vouch for you, we will be more than happy to avail ourselves of your services." He sat down and wrote out a permit for Fritz Weber, new official for the ICRC.

Later, as they left the building, Saint-Jean remarked casually, "I've a mind to accompany you on this quest of yours."

Cohen turned to look at him. "Really?"

"You heard Burckhardt. Each one of the relief trucks has to have a German guard. Who better than..."

"...Corporal Langenscheidt. Well, I am glad to hear it, Charles...or perhaps I should say Karl."

"Wolfgang, I believe that you and I are going to need some serious psychiatric treatment after the war for our identity crises."

...

When Cohen prepared to leave Madame Saint-Jean's home, Frau Lindemann and Helga each gave him a hug and wished him well. Hilda, however, was not ready to watch him return to Germany without a protest.

She took him aside and made him look her in the eye. "Will you be safe?"

"_Ja, ja."_

_"_And you will return to Geneva?"

"Of course."

She narrowed her eyes. "And when you return, you will explain who you really are."

"I promise."

Hilda smiled then, and she touched his face fleetingly. "I will be waiting."

...

After tearful goodbyes, Cohen and Saint-Jean, who had now resumed the identity of Corporal Karl Langenscheidt, left Geneva for the small border town of Konstanz, Germany, where they helped load a truck full of Red Cross packages. The official in charge shook his head when they told him they were bound for a small POW camp outside of Hammelburg.

"Better you should stay with the convoy and go directly to Moosburg."

"That's hours farther than Hammelburg," said Cohen. "We can make our delivery there, then proceed to Moosburg and reload at the depot."

The official stroked his chin. "Well, that makes sense...but be careful, _ja?"_

They promised they would, but as it turned out, their main problem was mechanical.

The truck sputtered to a stop outside of Sindelfingen, and Cohen struck the steering wheel in frustration. Langenscheidt looked at him sideways.

"Now what?"

"I'm not sure...flat tires I can handle, but when it comes to engine trouble..."

He was interrupted by the roar of an engine as an American jeep pulled up alongside on the muddy road. Its driver called out: "Need some help?"

"Are we behind Allied lines now?" Cohen asked Langenscheidt in some consternation. To the American, he said in English, using his own Brooklyn accent, "Sure - can you give me a hand?"

As Cohen opened the door, he said to Langenscheidt, "You might as well keep a low profile - we don't want any trouble."

As he got out of the truck, he took stock of the young American. A lanky private with a shock of black hair and vivid blue eyes, he looked no more than twenty years old.

"Happy to help out the Red Cross," said the private. He stuck out his hand. "Name's Adam Markiewicz - but call me Addie, everybody does."

Cohen shook his hand. "Name's Weber," he said, giving the American pronunciation. "Engine quit, just like that."

"Lemme take a look at it." Markiewicz already had the hood of the truck open and was leaning in. "You're in luck...spark plug wire came loose from the distributor cap...go ahead and try it."

Cohen hopped back in the truck and turned on the ignition again. He grinned as the engine roared into life.

Markiewicz gave him the thumbs-up sign and slammed the hood shut. He came around to the driver's window and asked Cohen, "Are you taking packages to the POW camps?"

"Yeah."

The private's eyes were very serious. "Tell 'em it won't be long now. Tell 'em we're on our way, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks a lot, soldier."

As they drove off, Langenscheidt said, "Nice kid."

"Yeah."

"He didn't sound much like you."

Cohen grinned. "He had a definite Midwestern twang. I grew up in Brooklyn, New York. Lots of different ways of mangling the English language in America."

"Your German is very good."

"Should be - that's where I was born. We came to New York when I was seven."

"_Parlez-vous français?"_

"_Un peu. Pourquoi demandez-vous?"_

"Just wondering." Langenscheidt gave Cohen a quizzical look. "I thought perhaps you might reconsider London's offer. The more languages you have, the better."

"No thanks. And I know what London is going to need most are Russian speakers. I don't speak it, and don't plan to learn. Listen, I'm now retired from the espionage business. I want to go back home to America. I want to face an auditorium full of students who are half-asleep and help them to realize Shakespeare still lives. I want to direct plays and see kids grow as actors. I want a life again. I want a home."

Langenscheidt smiled at his vehemence. "Wife and children?"

Cohen laughed without much humor. "I'm forty-three. It's a little late for all that."

"The war stole our lives, didn't it?"

"Did we have a choice?"

"No, we didn't. But the conflict with Germany will be over soon."

"And the one with Russia begins?"

"Perhaps."

Cohen turned his head briefly to look at Langenscheidt. "You're staying on with MI6, aren't you?"

_As if Nimrod would do anything else._

Langenscheidt said, almost apologetically, "It's my gift, you see - becoming another person. And I'm quite fluent in the Russian language, as it happens."

The truck bumped along the road for a time. Then Cohen said, "What about Helga?"

"Turns out she's interested in learning Russian."

Cohen shook his head. "Hilda's not going to like that."

"Of course not - she's spent the past two years shielding her cousin. But it's going to be a whole new world out there, and Helga deserves to find her own place in it." Langenscheidt gave Cohen a sidelong glance. "Hilda, now...I think she's ready for a home and children."

"Huh."

...

The next morning, after passing groups of refugees and a few straggling German columns, Cohen was glad to see Hammelburg come into sight. Langenscheidt put on his helmet and assumed his Luftwaffe corporal persona as Cohen pulled up to the front gate of Stalag 13.

A subdued guard looked at his papers and waved him in. By this time, groups of prisoners had come out of the barracks into the muddy compound and started milling around the truck.

Cohen shut off the engine and yanked on the brake. He and Langenscheidt climbed out of the truck, to be met by Colonel Klink and Sergeant Schultz.

Cohen found his hand wrung by Klink, who had tears in his eyes, and apparently didn't recognize him as Major Wolfgang Hochstetter at all.

"Thank you, sir! The prisoners have been waiting so long...we have done the best we could, but the rations are so short..."

Cohen looked around at the prisoners and guards, who were now engaged in unloading the truck. "You are all thin, to be sure. But it looks as though you have managed to keep them safe and relatively healthy, Kommandant."

Klink adjusted his monocle with a distracted air. "Yes, I have tried my best...I believe there were some evacuation orders that came through a week or so ago...now, where did I put them? Ah, well, I'm sure they'll turn up eventually. Yes, yes, eventually."

Cohen had to hide a smile.

_Good for you, Kommandant._

Meanwhile, Schultz had recognized Langenscheidt and swept him up into a huge embrace. "Karl! It has been so long, we thought perhaps you had been at the Russian front, and were never more to be seen."

"No, no," Langenscheidt managed, in a half-strangled voice. "Reassigned, _ja..._Russian front, _nein."_

Colonel Klink went over to greet his erstwhile corporal as well, but refrained from hugging him, to Langenscheidt's evident relief.

As Cohen watched them, Colonel Robert Hogan materialized out of nowhere and surveyed the scene. "Glad to see you, sir...?" He regarded Cohen with raised brows.

"Fritz Weber, of the International Committee of the Red Cross."

Hogan grinned. "Congratulations on your promotion - Major Hochstetter."

Cohen gave him a rueful smile in return. "Wasn't sure you'd recognize me. Actually, I wasn't sure you'd even be here to recognize me."

Hogan nodded in weary resignation. "We've heard about the forced marches. Klink's been able to avoid that so far, God bless him."

"So I gathered. The Allies have crossed the Rhine, you know. We just met up with an American private yesterday, who wanted me to let you know that they are on their way. It's just a matter of weeks now."

"Weeks..." Hogan sighed. "We'll get through it. The end is in sight, anyway."

Klink came back over to the two men. "Hogan, how are the men in the infirmary?"

"Sergeant Wilson says they're on the mend, sir."

Klink nodded. "Good, I have been concerned about them." He paused for a moment. "Hogan, do you remember telling me about that nineteen-year-old lieutenant from Wichita, Kansas who was going to roll up here in a Sherman tank and demand my surrender?"

"Yep."

"I wish he were here right now."

"Me too, sir. Me too."

The three men were quiet for a moment, and then Cohen observed that the truck was now empty of its cargo. "Gentlemen, it is time for us to depart. There are many more packages to be distributed, and we need to get to Moosburg."

He nodded to Klink and Hogan and went over to the group of prisoners surrounding Langenscheidt.

"Time to go, Corporal."

One of the prisoners turned toward him, eyes widening in surprise.

"If it isn't the Professor! Now, don't be telling me your papers didn't pass muster. Some of me finest work, they were."

"Oh, they worked, all right, Corporal Newkirk. I'm still Fritz Weber, but I'm with the Red Cross for the duration."

"And _les filles?" _inquired LeBeau anxiously.

"Yeah, did Hilda and Helga make it to Switzerland okay?" asked Carter.

"I'm guessing they did, since the Professor is here as a representative of the Red Cross," observed Kinch.

"You got that right, Sergeant Kinchloe. They are volunteering for the Red Cross as well, but their assignment is in Geneva. As for me, my next stop is Moosburg, where a depot of Red Cross packages has been established. Langenscheidt and I will be taking packages into the field from there, in search of POWs on the march."

"Poor devils," Newkirk said, and they all assented sadly.

"Yes...there's a tremendous backlog of packages, and not enough drivers..." Cohen met Langenscheidt's eyes. "Paroled prisoners!"

"I think the Kommandant would agree to it," said Langenscheidt.

"Wouldn't hurt to ask for volunteers," said Cohen. He looked around the group of men. "Moosburg is the main depot, and packages are distributed from there. They have set up a system where paroled prisoners act as drivers and maintenance men for the trucks. We met some of the Canadian parolees at the embarkation point at the Swiss border, and they have worked themselves to exhaustion, trying to get the packages out. I'm sure they could use some help."

"Lord knows we've all put in enough time at the motor pool 'ere," Newkirk said.

"Only this time, we'd actually be fixing the vehicles," said Carter. "Make a nice change for us."

"Count me in, Professor," Kinch said.

"_Et moi, aussi! _We are all healthy and fit, or reasonably so."

Kinch added, "You know us, Professor. We're not used to sitting out the war."

Cohen said, "I must caution you, though. This is dangerous and exhausting work. There are still Allied air attacks to contend with, refugees everywhere, and German columns are still active. And you would have to give your word of honor not to try to escape."

All four men looked at him and then began to laugh.

Colonel Hogan approached the group, his attention caught by the laughter. "Care to share the joke, gentlemen?"

"Colonel, the Professor has a proposition for us, but of course we would need your permission, and that of the Kommandant, too," Kinch said seriously.

Hogan listened closely to Cohen's explanation, and then nodded. "Kommandant!" he called.

Klink walked over to the group and smiled slightly as all of them looked at him with hopeful, expectant expressions on their faces. "How can I help you, Colonel Hogan?"

"Herr Weber here has informed us that the Red Cross could use some volunteer drivers and mechanics, to help get the backlog of Red Cross packages out to the POWs. They are using paroled prisoners for this job, and my group here would like to volunteer, with your permission, of course."

Klink narrowed his eyes, looked at each of the men in turn, and then nodded. "Request granted. Schultz!"

Schultz came puffing up. _"Herr Kommandant?"_

"Have Captain Gruber process paperwork to parole these prisoners for a work detail with the Red Cross, at once."

"All of them, sir?"

Klink looked at Hogan. "What of you, Colonel Hogan?"

Hogan shook his head, real regret in his eyes. "I wish I could go too, Kommandant. But my duty right now is to help you keep this camp safe until the Allies come to liberate us."

Klink was visibly relieved. "Thank you, Colonel Hogan. Schultz, have the paperwork made out for Kinchloe, Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau."

"Better add Olsen, Baker and Thomas, Kommandant. Something tells me they'll want to be part of this little shindig."

"And Olsen, Baker and Thomas, Schultz."

_"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."_

Hogan looked at his four men. "I guess there's one last mission, guys. You heard the man. Brief Olsen, Baker and Thomas, get your stuff together and get on that truck."

"Yes, sir!"

...

After a flurry of goodbyes and handshakes, Cohen and Langenscheidt got back into the truck, and the seven newly paroled prisoners clambered into the back. As Cohen started up the engine, Colonel Hogan came to the driver's side window.

"Professor, I hope to see you again sometime."

"When the war's over."

"When the war's over. Good luck." He called out to his men who were leaning out of the back of the truck. "Good luck, guys. Stay safe...and don't forget to come back!"

Cohen drove through the gates of Stalag 13 for the last time, blinking because his vision was unaccountably blurry.

Langenscheidt looked over at him and smiled. "They did good work there, you know. And so did you. Remember that."

"I will."

* * *

May 8, 1951, New York City

Cohen sat in front of the dressing room mirror and carefully removed the stage makeup from his face. First nights were always a tense occasion, and the subject matter of the play made this one even more so. His part in the play had been a relatively minor one, but several of his former students had been involved in the production, and he was anxious that their work be appreciated.

By the thunderous ovation they had received, he was pretty sure that it was.

A knock fell on the door, and he called, "Come in!"

Rising from his chair, he turned and saw two figures, both vaguely familiar. One was wearing a United States Air Force dress uniform and the other was in an elegant gown.

"Colonel - I mean, General Hogan!" Cohen quickly corrected himself, after noting the two stars on each shoulder of Hogan's tunic. He bowed slightly to Hogan's companion, and then did a double-take.

"Lily Frankel? The lovely, charming, and talented Lily Frankel?"

She laughed delightedly. "It is a pleasure to really meet you at last, Professor. Such a shame that I never got the chance to dance with Major Hochstetter."

"The regret is all mine, I assure you!"

"You two can rectify the omission later, but I want to warn you, Professor, that the lady is my wife." Hogan smiled as he put his arm around Lily.

"Congratulations to both of you. I would like to - "

A brief knock sounded on the door and it opened to reveal a gorgeous blonde in blue.

"_Liebling, _it was marvelous! All of that fretting for nothing..." The woman stopped suddenly, noticing the other two occupants of the dressing room. Her eyes opened wide.

"Colonel Hogan!"

"Hilda! You look wonderful! Wait a minute..." Hogan turned to Cohen. "Don't tell me you brought home a war bride as well."

"Yeah, well, I couldn't resist her any longer. We got married in Switzerland to celebrate V-E day. Four kids now." He smiled at Hilda who linked her arm in his.

"Well, belated congratulations to both of you." Hogan bent to kiss Hilda's cheek, and then shook Cohen's hand.

Cohen looked at both of his visitors and cleared his throat a little nervously. "If I may ask...what did you think of the performance tonight?"

Hogan nodded, his expression serious. "Do you mean, was it a little too close to home? It could have been, but I understand the guys who wrote the play wrote from their own experience, and I'd have to say they got it right on the nose. Definitely a story that needed to be told, and I'm glad I was privileged to see it."

He pulled a crumpled program from his pocket and looked at the title. The others in the room watched him in silent sympathy.

"You know, it's been years, but still...I can't forget. Maybe never will. But to know that somebody else was there, and understands what it was like...it means a lot."

Hogan looked up again and smiled.

"Yeah, I'm glad I was at the opening night of _Stalag 17."_


End file.
